


Stage Management

by Hanari502



Category: No Straight Roads (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But there's more than five, Canon-Typical Violence, Five Stages of Grief, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Mutual Pining, Reader-Insert, Romance, reader - Freeform, written by an asexual for asexuals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 44,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanari502/pseuds/Hanari502
Summary: DJ Subatomic Supernova is your boss. You’re not really sure if that’s still the case now that Bunk Bed Junction has kicked him out. But you do know that with him, you can try to prevent it happening to the other artists.You’re DJ Subatomic Supernova’s stage manager, and you’ve been putting in some overtime.It’d be so much easier if you weren’t also attracted to him.
Relationships: DJ Subatomic Supernova/Reader
Comments: 147
Kudos: 456





	1. Griefing

**Author's Note:**

> WELL IF NO ONES GONNA WRITE THE FIC I WANT THEN I'LL WRITE IT MYSELF
> 
> DJ Subatomic Supernova lives rent free in my head. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t write a reader-insert fanfiction about him? Fic takes place pretty much in the immediate timeline before, during, and following his ‘defeat’ at the hands of BBJ. I would normally ship him with Neon J like everyone else is doing but uh, you know who else I ship him with? Me. My fuckin self. I wanna smooch him.
> 
> Reader has gender neutral pronouns and a placeholder name because I HATE the (Y/N) format with every fiber of my being
> 
> Edit: Wow. Never would I have thought that this fic would get as big as it did, or that as many people would like it this much. I started this as a cute quippy reader insert tic, like many of my other fics, and it has evolved into something way more. Like many of my other fics. Insteas if being solely about Dj Subatomic Supernova and romance, it has turned into a variant of NSR from the losing side's perspective, running parallel with the game. I totally did not expect to pour as much of myself into this as I have, but boy am I glad I did.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you for enjoying it. It means the world to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only so many things you can control until you realize that sometimes the universe is uncontrollable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello hello! if you're reading this for the first time, welcome! I'd like to formally thank you for coming in and reading my little pet project here.
> 
> First and foremost, all art done in this fic is done by ppeachybees, who has graciously accepted my request to do trades for art in exchange for fics. The fics I'm currently writing in exchange can be found in my fic titled Just Peachy, so you can head on over to my page to read those! They are, currently, mostly about 1010 and probably will be for a while.
> 
> That being said, buckle up and enjoy the ride!

Saturdays are busy days for you. DJ Subatomic Supernova runs his events very specifically, which means very specific stage setup, very specific lighting, very specific….everything. And you, as his Operations Supervisor, are the one in charge of making sure everything goes off without a hitch. From the lights to the floor to the screens all the way up to his own DJ table, you were the one that knew everything happening at all times. You knew the pressure the hydraulics needed for it to swivel, you knew the specific decibel output that the sound system had to maintain as to not break anyone's eardrums. Nothing slipped past you, and nobody did anything without your (and DJSS’s) say so. Three years working for him has solidified your abilities, but this concert precedes a very important satellite launch, so it had to be _perfect_.

“How many disco balls do we need tonight?”

A voice from your left pulls you out of your thoughts and directs you to another one of your main crewmates. His stage name was Andromeda, you called him Andy. Neither of those are his actual name, but for the sake of appearances and aesthetic, it was his name as long as the lights were up. You had one too, as did your other executive crewmate. Naturally, they were all space themed names. Yours was Nebula. The other girl was Cassieopeia, Cassie for short. 

Neither of those are your actual names, but for the sake of appearances and aesthetic, that’s what you’re called when the lights are up.

“Four.” You tell him, familiar enough with the DJ’s thematics to make the judgement. “They’re going to symbolize the four planets closest to the sun, the ones before the asteroid belt, and we don’t have any room for any more.”

He pseudo-salutes and heads off as the rest of the stage crew busies themselves with light row setup and speaker placement. You survey the scene so far and deem it safe and managed for now. You trust your co-crew and everyone else employed. You don’t need to be there breathing down everybody’s backs. So you move, datapad in hand as you circle the designated dance floor and head to the back room where DJ Subatomic Supernova is supposed to be.

Working for him has been….interesting, in your opinion. It's a good job, pays well, and you’re fully qualified for it, but sometimes it’s a bit difficult to be around him when he’s _going off_. You don’t complain, though. Discotheque and House aren’t your preferred genres, but the music is good, the people are cool, and DJ Subatomic Supernova?

Well….he talks a lot. Not that you mind.

You like his voice.

You knock on his door, one covered with moving space and planets that you can only attribute to an LED screen installed on the outside of it. You get no reply, as usual, and open the door anyway. You’re the Stage Manager, for crying out loud. You’re allowed to bug him.

“You’re up in a half hour, Subs.”

“I don’t particularly care if you’re not ‘ _equipped_ ’ for it.”

His voice comes to you as it always does. Deep. Smooth. Alluring, some may call it. Though no ire was directed at you, whoever was on the other end of the phone he was on was certainly getting a meteor shower’s worth of negativity.

He’s on the phone. You have to wait.

You lean against the doorframe and cross your arms, clipboard hanging idly at your side. He luckily turns in your direction and you wave at him, raising an eyebrow.

He sighs. “I can remember the names of every star within telescopic distance relative to our very planet, but you’ll be very _very_ lucky if I decide to remember yours. Be better.”

You watch him hang up by throwing his phone across the room where it (thankfully) lands on his couch. (A custom piece made of blue vinyl with constellations embroidered into it, because yes he really is that extra and yes it cost quite a bit.)

“What is going on.” he approaches you and you hear your heartbeat in your eardrums for a split second as you, yet again, marvel at how _tall_ he is.

You hand him the clipboard. “Crew’s asking about the disco balls. There’s also the matter of your request to ‘expand the stage past the event horizon when requested’, so I’m running that through a translator to figure out exactly what the hell you’re talking about there. It’d be easier if you told me up front what you meant, but i’m not holding my breath.”

You have to be a little cruel towards him. Just a little, but in a friendly ‘I've known you long enough that i can get away with these kinds of jabs’ sort of way.

You swear he somehow squints at you. He takes the clipboard. “You’re very fortunate that we’ve known each other long enough that you can get away with those kinds of jabs, _Nebula_.”

You smirk. He reads (you think).

“Your day has been booked to hell and back.” You tell him, circling around and sitting yourself on the couch, picking up his tossed phone. In front of it sits a futuristic white and blue table with a moving LED imprint of the solar system on it. It does not match the couch. “Lights up audition wasn’t even a few hours ago, now you’re throwing this, and directly after you have the satellite launch. I know you like to tote that you can handle a lot of things, but if you don’t start spacing these things out you’re going to crash, Subs.”

He bristles at the nickname, but decides not to berate you for it. He’s told you before that it bothers him, but neither of you have come up with an appropriate nickname for him that he accepts. His full name is too long for you, even though he _insists_. You ignore it. He has yet to actually tell you to stop.

He waves a hand at you. “I assure you, I am fully capable of handling a booked schedule. It’s not the first time I’ve wasted the day away slaving over my personal pursuits. Besides, if I’m not the one to supervise everything, who will? You? I don’t think so.”

“You really think so little of me.” You rib him, standing up from the couch. “The Lights Up audition wasn’t even a personal pursuit. It was a job that you have to take because Tatiana tells you to. Besides, I’m your Operations Supervisor, which means that I have to supervise _your_ operations, not just the club, and _not_ just the music. Have you eaten yet today? And don’t say Dodo Ice Pops because that’s not food, it’s junk.”

He doesn’t respond, instead taking the opportunity to toss you the clipboard. You barey catch it. “Tell them to have the disco balls orbiting my chair, spinning in the appropriate directions the first four planets do as they revolve the sun. If any of them ask what directions those are, tell them to Google it. I can’t give them all the answers.”

“And the phone call?” you shake his phone at him and walk over to place it in his hand.

“Satellite operations.” He shoves it in his pocket. “I’d prefer if someone with an engineering background were managing the setup, but you’re not available, and you’re not leaving the club tonight.”

“What if I have to go pick you up more ice pops?” You ask him, cheekily.

“Don’t.”

“What if I have to run out and buy another blacklight because your flailing arms breaks one?”

“ _Don’t_.”

“Or if I have to-”

You’re silenced by one of his fingers covering your mouth, and the lower half of your face. God he’s….really just so big. You swallow. At the end of the day he's still your boss, and you silently listen as he speaks.

“You are not to leave my side tonight, Nebula.” he says, with all seriousness you’d expect of someone with his ego. “Tonight is a momentous occasion, and as one of the original three, you are to stay here in the club until the party is over, and then accompany me to the satellite launch for final checks. No orbiting outside my gravitational pull, do I make myself clear?”

You nod and he removes his hand. “Sure, but do you have to use my stage name when we’re not even out on the floor?”

“I will call you otherwise when you are no longer working for me.” He spins around and heads onto the dance floor. You sigh and grab the walkie talkie off your belt and relay the directions to Andy on the floor.

You have a feeling it’s going to be a very long night.

* * *

“Billions upon billions of organisms reside on this tiny planet...each meticulously designed to fulfill their given purpose. Yet... _you_ barely reach the cusp of mediocrity. You can’t even handle a simple satellite launch procedure.”

You watch him throw his phone. You fumble to catch it. He’s been set up in his turntables for a while now, and there are people in the building. The music is low, he’s barely started, but he’s apparently been having trouble with this dude running the launch for a few hours now. You check his phone for damage. It’s unharmed. He rants some more, assumedly talking to you. If not you, then the whole club.

“Such incompetence…” he huffs, Dodo Ice Pop slowly melting in his hand. “It’s not _rocket science_ …..I mean, it _is_ , but-” 

He notices the melting pop and you snicker as he yells at someone else (not you) to get him a new one. You almost outright chuckle but you know he’ll hear it. You also watch him throw it behind him and regret to inform the janitor that yeah, he’s in a bad mood and there’s ice cream on the floor now. You can hear it in his voice, he’s probably thinking back to you ribbing him earlier about it. He sighs, turning to you. “Great, what else could possibly go wrong today?”

You watch from your spot at the base of his chair as the doors slam open, startling him. And you. And half the floor. To the tune of the two rockstar rejects that he dismissed earlier that night on the Lights Up audition.

Except they don’t look too happy, and they’re approaching the stage with a vigor you rarely see in people who aren’t angry.

“What are you NSR people doing?!” The girl asks him. Mayday. Her name is Mayday, you remember. “We’re not getting enough electricity, and all you guys do is party!”  
  
You furrow your brow. You’re like 90% sure the Cast Tech district is getting plenty of the offset electricity that the club itself is producing. Not to mention this is the first day this week he’s actually performing anything. You turn to him, raising an eyebrow and giving a very eloquent “Uhhhhhhhh……?”

He turns to you. “Who are these two? Have they purchased the Privilege Pass to converse with me?”

You shake your head and step off to the side to check with security.

“Hey uh, we’re screening people at the door, right?” You ask over comms. You hear Mayday say something, appalled, in the background but she’s not your job right now. Right now your job is to make sure that this event runs right, and that DJ Subatomic Supernova gets through his set with enough time to go to the launch. You get a response from the other end of the radio.

_"We should be. The planetarium’s packed to full capacity and there’s a line outside. Why?”_

“Because Bunk Bed Junction is currently crashing our gig.” You tell him and turn back to the conversation. “I want security here to get them out, as soon as possible, before they ruin all my hard work.”

“Rock…” DJSS muses. You didn’t catch whatever was said before. “Fascinating. Hm. That is fascinating. Your _limited aspirations_. Your _misplaced effort_. You remind me of….Pluto! Once thought to be a planet in the solar system but no longer is.”

You wince a bit. Not exactly the best insult for them but still a bit harsh. Though, they were crashing his show and ruining your setup. You radio to security. “Hey, do you have available hands to get these two out of here or no?”

_"Right now we’ve got everyone handling the entrances and exits just in case more party crashers show up. We’re spread a little thin.”_

“I’ll tell him to hire more security next time.” you grumble into the mic and watch DJSS insult their intellect. And then everyone’s intellect. Including yours….you think? You watch as he calls them irrelevant, and you watch as he makes himself known.

Makes DJ Subatomic Supernova known.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel a little something inside your chest when he proclaims himself with that much gusto. With that much passion. With a fire in his voice bred of a deep inset narcissism, but also earned confidence. You watch him spin his turntables around as the disco balls come out, as the planets come out….

And then you watch them absolutely demolish him and send him literally flying out of the planetarium, smashing his helmet to the point of breaking and falling off as it falls to the ground, a stark contrast to his body making orbit.

“Get everybody out of the planetarium.” You bark into the radio as you rush off to find the remains of your galactically themed boss.


	2. Shock and Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people go off on idiots in the grocery store to cope.
> 
> DJ Subatomic Supernova has very few options, but you being there will always be one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really do the whole "The reader is shy and nervous" thing. I read too many fanfictions where the reader is a shy and nervous person, and that doesn't resonate with me personally because I am an EXTROVERT EXTREME. So uh, the Reader personality may be a bit abrasive for people who aren't like, outgoing and opinionated and a little bit headstrong, so just a little heads up that's what this fic is like!!

You find him in an alleyway, hunched over underneath a flickering lightpost. He comes up to about halfway on the post itself, so the imagery to any bystander might be menacing. His hood is down, drawn over his head to obscure it. The blue neon lights and their cold haze from the cracks and crevices of the city’s space cast an almost sad glow on the usually pontifical figurehead. DJ Subatomic Supernova sits here, in the corner of this alley, and you cannot imagine what’s going through his head as you approach.

But you have a job to do and _he_ has a job to do, so you’ve gotta get him out of there.

“Hey.” You say as you approach. Slowly. You’re still gripping your clipboard. Its 4am and the twilight hour has lost its lustre in this small corner of the city. “So uh….you alright?”

He turns towards you, you can tell by the shift in his shoulders, but he does not remove his hood. You do not ask him to. In the 3 years you’ve been working for him you’ve never seen what lies underneath the helmet.

Out of respect, you decide you won’t try.

“You still have the satellite launch tonight.” You tell him, walking over and offering a hand. “In an hour or so. If we don’t get over there now, you’re going to be late, and that guy you’ve been fighting all night is going to do a horrible job.”

Your words don’t move him, though he doesn’t seem sad. You’d say maybe, contemplative. But silent nonetheless. You look over to the discarded wrapper of a Dodo Ice Pop lying on the ground next to him. You do not know if it was one he had with him and decided to eat, or if it was there before he got there. You do not see the stick to the Dodo Ice Pop, so you decide on the former.

It’s a small detail that doesn’t matter, but your mind is telling you that whatever moment you’re in right now is important, and every little detail helps.

“Come on.” You say, walking over and hoisting one of his arms over your shoulder. He’s so big that it doesn’t really do anything, but you tug anyway. “Come _on_. You lost a fight with a bunch of rock obsessed nerds, big whoop. They’re inconsequential, right? You’ve got a billion other things to do and we’re going to be late for one of the greatest of them. You’re gonna be known throughout the universe, and you’re gonna let one measly bad night stop you? Get up Subs. You’ve got a launch to run.”

“You’re right.” He says, muffled somewhat as he stands. He doesn’t remove his arm from your shoulder for a while as you walk down the city streets. The party animals have all gone home at this hour, the club you made sure to evacuate was empty as well. He removes his arm from your shoulder at one point and walks ahead of you, taking the lead as he knows the way better than you do. Public Transportation is down this time of night, the buses and monorail don’t run this late. Everything seems darker outside for some reason, and you don’t like it.

You can, however, see the stars shine brightly across the black backdrop of the unpolluted sky, and you’re sure he’s staring too.

“This was not one of my better nights.” He cuts the silence about a half hour into your walk. You would have been fine walking in the quiet, gazing at the vast expanse of the universe as it stretches and twinkles above you, but if he’s talking that means he’s doing better, so you listen. “I had no shortcomings, and yet a duo of buffoons decides that they shine brighter than I do. Disgraceful.”

He says nothing for the rest of the trip, and as you walk along the dimly lit neon roads of the Cast Tech District, you hear the conversations of what few citizens remain echo through the metal landscape of the city. You’re not sure if he’s paying attention, but what you hear sits in your gut and you don’t feel great about it. 

When he gets to the launch it’s business as usual and nobody mentions his lack of helmet or headphones. You do catch a few people try to sneak a peek under the hood, but a quick glare from you backs them down immediately. It helps a little that the fabric lining the inside of his jacket is reflective. He directs the engineers (and you) for pre-launch setup, last checks, wires and system checks, the whole nine yards. You watch the satellite catapult itself into orbit, screen bright and vivid with Vinyl City’s top 6 on it’s billboard. It’s with a sort of pinched guilt in your heart that you watch Bunk Bed Junction move from number 6 to number 5, knocking DJ Subatomic Supernova down.

As the crowd around you celebrates a successful launch, none the wiser of the transgressions of several hours ago, you turn your attention to the DJ in question and find him, again, uncharacteristically silent.

You clear your throat.

“So.” You start, placing your hands on your hips. “I don’t think Club Planetarium is a great place to go back to right now. Bunk Bed Junction owns the Cast Tech District now so, any houses there probably aren’t safe either. Do you have a backup plan?”

“Normally, yes.” He says. It’s quipped, his usual tranquilly superior lilt held back. “However, I did not anticipate being blasted out of my planetarium, so currently I have no backup plan.”

You think for a moment, and come to a risky conclusion.

“I still live in the Natura District.” You tell him. “It’s out of the way and quiet. It’s not anything like the Cast Tech district, but you can crash for the night if you need it. I have a pull out couch.”

He seems to contemplate this as the party around him dies down. You can hear his own music thumping casually in the background of the noise. 

“Yes.” He nods, you think. “Yes, I believe I’ll take you up on your offer. One cannot navigate the cosmos blind. Well...you _can_ , but it’s better to have a map, and a guide.”

You nod, a little surprised that he said yes. He said yes?? He’s going to be _in your house_?? That's cool. He’s your boss. This is fine. Don’t freak out. Its 7am now, neither of you have slept, you’re a little wired on adrenaline from the….everything...happening.

This is fine.

You clear your throat, and your head “I’ll call a Lyft.”

* * *

Your apartment is nice. You’d like to think it’s nice, because you spend a good portion of the salary he pays you to maintain it.

It’s a penthouse suite kind of deal, open floorplan, overlooking the district in all it’s quiet organic serenity. There’s two ‘bedrooms’, one bathroom, but everything else is open. Your balcony is small, but it’s peaceful, and it faces away from the main venue of the Natura Concert Hall giving you a beautiful view of not just the lower city, but the sky above it.

The rolling blackout has affected that side of town, you notice, as you spare a quick glance out the floor to ceiling windows.

“So uh, make yourself at home.” You tell him as you stride in. You move over to the kitchen and watch as he struggles somewhat to get through the doorway. Height aside, he’s a wide dude too. 

You’re not complaining.

He makes it through and you wonder quietly what your home looks like to him. How it compares to his no doubt over-teched living space. Your furniture, while high quality, is still decidedly less super-tech’d than places like the Cast Tech district or the Metro District. Your furniture is simple, yet modern. Pale orange couch, white modern table and matching bookcases with various notebooks and old college textbooks lined up inside. You’ve got some cactuses on a shelf near the window and some neat hanging lights that look like stars. Its definitely got a Nature-Meets-Modernity feel to it.

His place is probably a billion times more impressive, but his place is not your place and you’re very proud of your apartment. He’s been here once before, when he hired you three years ago, but it was different then. 

Everything was so different then.

He takes stock of your apartment and says nothing, opting to walk over to the couch and sit himself down on it. He does not ‘plop’. He’s far too enlightened an individual to plop down on your couch.

“I don’t understand.” He says, bringing one hand to his head, “There are countless possibilities and strings branching out from every instance of choice in the past, present, and future. Just like there are countless stars in the ever expanding universe. And yet, this string, those... _plutonians_ who orbit so far outside my radiance that the light of my brilliance will never reach them, believe that they are worthy of not _only_ breaking out of their designated path, but that they feel the need to intersect _mine_. Unbelievable. The odds are astronomical.”

“You’re tired.” You tell him. You’re _also_ tired, but you’re the host and this is your house so you don’t complain about yourself. “It’s been a long night and you haven’t had the chance to rest. You’re upset right now but you’ll feel better tonight when you wake up. I know your schedule.”

You’re both night owls. The club life and DJ lifestyle is a very specific one. You essentially work third shift, waking up at 7 or 8pm, starting parties and raves around 10, which last until 2 or 3am sometimes, you usually don’t get back to your place until 5 or 6 in the morning, and you spend all day sleeping and doing it all over again for about four days in a row.

Mondays through Wednesdays were a blessing, but it’s Sunday and you haven’t slept and now that you’re looking at your cupboards and refrigerator you realize that you have to go grocery shopping if you’re going to entertain your boss.

“So, I have to go out.” You say in his general direction as you search your cupboards for...anything he’d like to eat really. You don’t prep for more than you. “I’ve gotta run out and get enough food for both of us for the night, what do you want me to get?”

You peek out at him and find that he’s fallen asleep while sitting up.

At least, you’re 80% certain he’s asleep, judging by the soft rise and fall of his chest.

His adrenaline must have worn off.

“Uh...hey….Boss?” You walk over carefully and wave your hand in front of his face. “DJ Subatomic Supernova?” Nothing. You sigh. “Alright, well….i’m getting you a blanket and then i’m going shopping.”

You get him a blanket. You go downstairs and get yourself the strongest coffee you can stand at the cute cafe nearby. You grab a cab to the entrance of the Cast Tech district, and you head over to the supermarket near the Giant Qwaza because its the only one you know for a fact that has Dodo Ice Pops in it.

On your way over, however, you take a look up at the statue of DJ Subatomic Supernova in the square. Your heart sinks as you see that someone has graffiti’d over his chest with Pro-Bunk Bed Junction propaganda.

Cool. That’s….cool. It’s not like you work here or anything, or that you’re particularly invested in that one statue, but it sucks a whole lot to see it defaced so quickly after he was kicked out of his crib.

Do the people resent NSR that much that they’re willing to badmouth and run over their artists the second they no longer have a say in what happens in their district? Do they hate DJ Subatomic Supernova so much that they’d so quickly erase his legacy in lieu of a small-time rock and roll rebellion? Do they hate his scientific advancements? Or what he’s provided them in the past three years by way of spacefaring technology and growth?

You shake your head and continue into the supermarket.

You’re still in your work uniform, which is probably the reason why one particular customer is glaring at you as you walk around and shop for ingredients for a quick two-person meal. And the ice pops, naturally. Something to lift his spirits. Something to commiserate over together.

“Hey.”

You ignore it. It’s that guy, you think. You don’t care.

“Hey, you.”

You’re tired and you’re running on no sleep and 6 espresso shots packed into latte form. Your source of income was just booted from his home and he’s sleeping in your apartment three whole districts away.

You ignore it.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

You sigh and turn to him, and in your most ‘fuck off’ sounding voice, you glare at him. “ _Can I help you_?”

He puts up his arms. You’ve never seen him before. He doesn’t stand out. A grey standee in a colourful supermarket. “Hey, hey. No need to be so aggressive. We’re all music lovers here, yeah? You’re a fan of the DJ I’m guessin, judgin’ by your look.” He gestures to your outfit.

You like your uniform. Blue and white stylized shirt to mirror DJSS’s jacket, white holographic windbreaker, blue shorts, blue platform sneakers, and a blue and white stylized snapback hat with your stage name embroidered in the bottom of the black-tinted brim. You’re one hundred percent certain that the big black “CREW” on the back of your jacket is what attracted this guy.

He can go fuck off honestly. You turn away from him and head to the register, but you can hear the smugness in his voice as he follows you.

“So uh...you were at the planetarium when he got sniped, huh?” He says to your annoyance. “Sucker went _flying_. Though it’s no surprise considerin’ how fulla hot air he is.”

The cashier is terrified when you approach, placing your stuff on the belt. You can’t tell whether it’s because you look like you’re about to kill this guy, or because he’s purposefully instigating you into possible homicide.

“Bunk Bed Junction’s right you know.” he says as you hear him get closer. The cashier scans your items as fast as he can. “NSR is too much. They don’t give us the energy we need and they only take care of themselves.”

“What is your point.” You turn to him, seething with the fury leaking from your 6 shots of espresso. “Is it to bother me? Do you believe that I somehow have the ability to singlehandedly change the way things work? To make me feel bad about my job? I don’t, and I never will, and someone as _astronomically insignificant_ as you won’t make me feel shame in what I do. DJ Subatomic Supernova is a rocket scientist, an astonomer, A licensed professor, an accomplished astrophysicist, and one of the greatest EDM artists in Vinyl City. So much so that he was placed on the board for judging other artists based off his _merit alone_. So if you want to accost me and say that my boss sucks, fine. But he’s done more in the last three years than you’ve probably ever done in your whole life, and this morning he launched a fucking satellite into orbit. What have _you_ done today, _simpleton_?”

DJ Subatomic Supernova's last words from the fight earlier ooze from your mouth with venom that stings. You can feel the cashier flinch. You can feel the idiot in front of you turn greyer.

The man is stunned into silence. The cashier is additionally stunned and frightened of you as he hands you your bags and you literally storm out the door. Whoever was in front of you has moved, and you really _really_ need a nap.

It takes minutes for you to get from the supermarket to your apartment and by the time you get inside DJ Subatomic Supernova is apparently awake and was waiting for you to come back.

He couldn’t have gotten a decent amount of sleep since you’ve been gone. It’s been like...an hour and a half.

“Where were you?” He asks as you walk in and near-slam your door closed.

“The grocery store.” You tell him, exhaustion and residual anger only seeping into your tone a little bit. If he notices he doesn’t say anything. “I needed to get food for two people. I also got you these.”

You walk over and plop the box of Dodo Ice Pops down on his lap. You’re close enough to see under his hood, see what’s under the helmet, see what he looks like without it.

You don’t try. You’re too upset to be able to appreciate it.

“I’m going to sleep.” You tell him, ushering him off the couch so you can successfully pull it out into Bed Mode. You run over to the linen closet and pull out two pillows for him, chucking them on the bed. It already has a sheet but if it didn’t you definitely weren’t going to bother putting one on right now. You feel like you’re being a bad host and you remind yourself to apologize to him later. “I’m going to my room and I’m going to sleep and I’m not going to wake up until whenever, and you should get some sleep too. It’s been a long day and we’re both tired and angry and I just got into a fight with a guy at the grocery store so I’m going to lock myself in my room and die for the rest of the day. Don’t touch anything please, bathroom’s down the hall on the left, and please for the love of all that’s holy let me wake up on my own. If you need to take a shower there’s extra towels in the closet next to the bathroom. I don’t have any clothes that fit you but you can wash your clothes over there.”

You point over to your washer and dryer on the other side of the room and he nods. You know he can sense your bad mood, and you can tell that he wants to ask you about the fight, about all this, but he doesn’t. Instead he sits down on the bed, cradling the Dodo Ice Pops, and says. “Thank you. Rest well, Nebula.”

You nod and give him a wave and go to your room, kicking off everything except your shorts and your shirt.

You black out as soon as your head hits the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos fuel my lifeblood


	3. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're not in love with DJ Subatomic Supernova and he's not in love with you but boy wouldn't it be something if you weren't both lying to yourselves.
> 
> You shower, you eat, you feel things, you leave.
> 
> He doesn't know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inhales
> 
> The only reason people ship DJSS and Neon J is because they're both objectheads and people want them to be gay BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED:
> 
> Eve/Mayday redemption slow burn romance.
> 
> There's a weird spot at the transition that I hope doesn't throw people off. I apologize in advance. I have no beta.

You dream uninterrupted.

You dream of music, the colour blue, the stars in space, a black hole sucking you in to another location.

You dream of haunting melodies left behind by people you once knew as friends and family. A golden stage that once housed masters of music you revered as gods.

You dream of falling in no particular direction as a guitar chord twangs out somewhere in the far distance. One that heralds the end of an experience you’ve come to cherish as you fall, fall, fall, fall…

You fall right out of your bed.

Your first instinct is to check your phone to see what time it is, but you forgot to plug it in and now it’s dead so you’re going to have to wait until it charges. You grab it from your bedside table and plug it into its charger. If you need to go anywhere, you have a portable charger nearby. No big deal. It’s still inconvenient.

You sigh. Its a new day and you should have been back to work by now, you think. You lie on your bed and focus your breathing as you consider your next step.

Club Planetarium was hijacked, DJ Subatomic Supernova ejected. You found him, thank goodness, but he was no longer the charter for that district, so there’s no telling if you’ll even be able to go back there. He’s chilling in your house, but that doesn’t necessarily ensure that you still have your job, or that he’ll continue to pay you. You’re a stage tech with some engineering experience. You’ve got specialized skills that apply to pretty much one certain field of expertise. And you’re pretty sure you can’t go back to the Natura concert hall with Yinu’s mom running everything.

You sigh. You need to get out of your stage clothes and take a damn shower.

It takes twenty minutes. Grab clothes, enter bathroom, shower, dry yourself, put on clothes, leave bathroom, grab barely charged phone from the nightstand, and those twenty minutes of searing-hot water laden bliss was almost enough to make you forget about your predicament.

Almost, you muse, as you walk into your living room with a towel wrapped around your head and find your boss hunkered over your kitchen counter. He turns to you, hood still pulled tight around his head, and you see he’s brought up breakfast, presumably from the nice little cafe downstairs since you recognize those cinnamon rolls. By the looks of how fresh it smells, he must have gotten it while you were in the shower. 

“Good morning. I do hope you slept well.”

Your heart flutters in your chest a bit when he acknowledges you and _boy_ if you couldn’t get used to hearing _that_ every day for the rest of your life.

You cough and check your phone to hide your state. “It's 7pm.”

He nods. “Obviously, but you just woke up from a long and well deserved rest. So, technically, it is your morning.”

You walk over and take the towel down, furiously scrubbing your head in an effort to dry your hair. You drape it over a chair. “Well...you’re not wrong. You got me breakfast?”

He nods again. “The cafe downstairs was open. I myself woke up with an insatiable hunger. They asked about you and gave me food they thought you’d enjoy. They seem to know you quite well.”

Part of you deflates, but not much. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d get you food as an afterthought. You’ve worked with him long enough that it’s not a surprise, and you shouldn’t even be hurt by it, but the hopeful part of you is always holding out. Always thinking that maybe one day he’ll do something for you as thanks, aside from like, a pay raise.

He’s not as selfish as he puts off, you know this, but sometimes he just…. _really_ is the way people think he is. 

Its a difficult mindset that you shove out of your head as you grab a cinnamon roll.

“So.” You say, walking over to your fridge to pull out a drink. These things are dangerous eaten alone. “We talked about it yesterday, kind of, but what’s your next step.”

And _my_ next step, you think as you take a bite and try not to lose yourself in the gooey sweet goodness of the first thing you’ve eaten in 24 solid hours.

“I have a plan.” he says, crossing his arms. “I still have my scientific pursuits, my teaching degree, and my music career is _far_ from over. Just because I was tripped up by some _cosmic dust mites_ does not mean that my music has lost its importance. I am still DJ Subatomic Supernova, and I am still relevant, with or without my district. My drones are already off in space, and knowing that they are out there fills me with….satisfaction. Though I could do more, _my_ current pursuits are to see how this ends up. My district will still thrive, I know this for a fact. It is still _my_ district, and everything in it is still under _my_ jurisdiction, regardless of who currently has my _album_ for it. Those insignificant specks of space dust wouldn’t know the first thing about maintaining any of the buildings or merchandise, the grid, the club. Oh no, they’ll do an alarmingly poor job, and while they’re running amok throwing their temper tantrum, I will continue to make sure my music reaches the furthest edge of the galaxy. My next step? Simple. I’ll be going back to work.”

You get through half your cinnamon roll with the help of a glass of milk. “Alright. Well, that’s one base covered. Good for you. I’m not sure what i’m going to be doing since the Club’s been ransacked. I do have to go back and grab some stuff before anyone gets any funny ideas about trashing the place or stealing anything in it. I’ll...probably do that in a little bit. I still have the keys. But I don’t really know what I’m going to do next. Club Planetarium was my job, y’know? You’re my boss so….having this conversation is sort of weird. This whole situation is sort of weird, but you already know that.”

“Am I paying you enough?”

The question comes out of nowhere and you pause mid-bite. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“Do I pay you enough.” He gestures to your apartment. “Your living situation here, is it because you can’t afford to live in the Cast Tech district? I’ve asked you many times to relocate for ease of access and you’ve declined every time. I also couldn’t help but notice your low-tech accommodations and scarce furniture. So, my conclusion, am I paying you enough.”

“Yes!” You wave him off. “No, yeah, I mean. You pay me- jeez why on earth would you think….Yes. My salary is good. Was good? My pay is totally fine and I don’t live like this because I’m cutting corners or anything. I pay my bills and still have extra, I just don’t _need_ very many super high tech things when i come home, y’know? Work life is work life and home is home. I like having the two be separate. Besides, a good portion of my money goes towards other things. Like hobbies. And food. Mostly food. Food is good.” You take a bite of your cinnamon roll to quell the nervous apprehension building in you. “Didn’t you get yourself some food too? From the place downstairs? Aren’t you going to eat it?”

He looks down, presumably at the food, and then off to the side. “I...prefer not to eat in front of company.”

“Is it ‘cause you can’t?” You rib him, grinning. “Is it ‘cause your head is just a blob of space that can only be contained by your orb helmet and eating food means tossing it into your black hole of a mouth.”

“Watch it, you.” he scolds you, and the tone he uses does something to your stomach.

You grin harder. “Three years I’ve worked with you and I haven’t seen what’s under the helmet. We all speculate, you know. Constantly. Andy thinks you’re a robot like 1010.”

He huffs. “He would be wrong. Don’t you have better things to do on the floor than to fantasize about me? Like your job?”

You shrug and fight _really hard_ against the heat threatening to overtake your cheeks. “Not really.”

Is this flirting? Are you flirting with your boss? 

Maybe.

Is he observant enough to pick up on it?

Highly unlikely.

“Anyway.” You say as you pop the last of the roll into your mouth. “I’m heading back to Club Planetarium to pick up some stuff I forgot to grab yesterday. I was in a rush trying to find where you rocketed off to. Do you want to come with me?” You lick the icing from your fingers and pull out an extra key from one of your kitchen drawers. You go to give it to him and he’s...staring at you. You think. It feels like he’s staring at you.

“No…” His voice is slow when he speaks. Like he’s caught off guard, or he’s holding back. You’re acutely aware of your thumb in your mouth and he seems to remember the rest of his sentence when you remove it. “No I...don’t think that’s best for me right now. I’ll...eat while you’re away. What is this?”

You fail to fight the blush this time. “Spare key.” You say, dropping it on the counter. “Can’t have you getting locked out while i’m away. Don’t mess anything up? And please don’t try to move in more ‘high tech’ furniture behind my back. I like my cactuses.”

"Cacti." He takes the key, and a moment to respond. “I will make no promises.”

The air has some sort of tenseness in it that you can’t place, but it’s stifling. Suffocating in the rare silence you’re granted when in the celestial DJ’s presence. Your chest feels tight and you can hear your heartbeat in your eardrums, and there’s anxiety there.

You have…..things to do. He’s your _boss_.

“Cool.” You swoop around him and grab your bag from the coffee table. Wallet, phone, keys, focus on things other than your nervousness at there being weird air in the room. “Great. I’ll uh...be back in….a while? I don’t know how long this is going to take. Text me if you need anything-”

“My helmet.”

“Huh?”

He turns towards you. “I have spare helmets in the club, just in case. There’s also one at my house, but I’m not in any particular mood to go there right now. They’re in a locked cabinet. I have the keycard.” He pulls it out from god knows where and hands it to you. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Again with his goddamn voice and tone. It’s condescending and deep and it goes through you like a knife through butter. You take the card. “Yup. Anything else?”

“You’re my Operations Supervisor. You should know anything else I’d need by now.”

“Fair enough.” You head toward the door. “Again, text me if you think of anything.”

“I won’t.” is his simple reply as he turns away from you.

You have never been so eager to leave your apartment in your entire life, you think, as your heart hammers in your brain trying to process exactly what the _fuck_ that was all about.

* * *

He’s thoughtful as he watches you go to your room, shouldering the brunt of the past days events, and comes to the conclusion that he should probably pay you more.

It’s been an eventful twenty four hours and he should definitely get some sleep. However, there’s an abundance of things to think about in the wake of the day's chaos, and his two hour nap has given him a small burst of contemplation.

The ice pops are growing warmer by the second. He stands up and moves over to your fridge, opening the freezer and shoving them in (After opening the box and grabbing one of course). This house is not made for someone of his...proportions...he realizes, and sits himself back down on the couch as he eats his gift. The lack of helmet makes it bizarre since he’s so used to having it on for publicity’s sake. But he can’t very well worry about that now. He has backups. Perhaps he’ll ask you to pick one up for him, he thinks as he goes to town on the rapidly melting ice pop. 

You are interesting. Useful, helpful, a good operations supervisor. You’ve worked for him for three years and you’ve done everything to the letter. This mishap was a small wedge in his own plans. His probes were already attached to the satellite. They were more than likely already off in space, broadcasting his own music. He didn’t care much for NSR as a whole, but they let him do what he wanted in regards to scientific progression, so he stuck with them. His music was his passion, but he wouldn’t be able to host his weekend gigs without his operations team.

And now you were, technically, out of a job.

He thinks. He thinks about you. He thinks about his future. He thinks about Bunk Bed Junction and the wrench they threw in his plans.

He contemplates as the Dodo Ice Pop grows smaller and smaller, and eventually disappears along with his consciousness, only to wake up hours later to find your apartment silent.

You’re still sleeping, but he does take the initiative when he hears you wake up, and head for a shower, and he does not think of you in the shower while he waits in the Cafe downstairs.

He’s not in love with you, he thinks, as he watches your face light up when you walk in and see he’s brought you food. He doesn’t revel in your surprise, or the way your face changes when he talks.

He lies to you about his plans. He has no plan. This has never happened to him before. The best thing he can do is tell you something comforting. Because it’s not like him to not have a plan.

He’s smart enough to recognize signs of infatuation. It’s not like he’s never felt it before with anyone. He’s just never _needed_ to feel it before with anyone.

But he watches you speak, your tone, your posture. He watches you intently as you lick icing from your fingers and almost falters when you ask him along to pick up the pieces of the club he was so rudely ejected from.

And he declines.

He declines and watches you stumble to keep a normal conversation. Because he’s smart, arguably the smartest person he knows, and he recognizes signs of infatuation. He’s recognized them for a while in you specifically. It’s hard not to when you work so closely together multiple days of the week. When you’re at his beck and call for pretty much anything.

So he gives you his keycard so he can get one of his helmets back, because he wasn’t lying about preferring to eat alone. Not because he’s shy. Shy? Never heard of her. But because he hasn’t found anyone he cares enough about to share a meal with.

So he lies, and he’s not in love with you, and he’s definitely not going to spend the next hour or two trying to think of what to do right now, because he’s too smart for that and he _has_ a plan.

So he lies to himself and takes a bite of his cinnamon roll and wonders what the icing on your fingers tasted like.


	4. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes asteroids hit planets and they fall out of orbit.
> 
> Sometimes a planet revolving around a sun gets thrown off course.
> 
> Sometimes the asteroid becomes a pitched baseball
> 
> Who's the one who threw it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two musical theatre references in here that I pray to god someone gets.
> 
> Edit: 200 KUDOS HOLY SHIT!!!! THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!!!

The place is empty. Not necessarily ransacked as much as it’s just... _vacant_. There’s one or two smashed windows and you’re kind of surprised. You’ve been gone like, a day and a half. You take note of the outside and find a small graffiti mark on the side of the building. A hand with its pinky finger held up. You have no idea what it means. You have the key, so getting inside isn’t too hard.

What awaits you past the doors, however, is difficult for you to stomach.

It looks trashed. You know the only reason its like this is because it’s the aftermath of their fight, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The disco balls and planet substitutes are scattered around the floor, shattered and torn after being mercilessly beaten by a guitar and pair of drumsticks. You pick up a piece of what you’re pretty sure was Saturn at one point and your blood boils. 

How dare they.

You don’t hate Rock. You don’t. The genre isn’t your preferred genre but you don’t hate it. You don’t listen to it often because it just doesn’t vibe with you sometimes, but you don’t dislike it.

You do, however, dislike what these two rock-crazed idiots did to your club.

And yes, it was _your_ club. Not the DJ’s club. He may pay for it and run his sets here, but you’re the Operations Supervisor. You know the ins and outs of this place and how it works. You run this joint, and to see all of your hard work and dedication that you’d spent years of your life perfecting go up in smoke?

It’s infuriating, but there’s a time and place for everything and right now you need to be level headed.

There is one saving grace, however, survived by the intact heavy-LED door in the back. The door itself is smashed, but the keycard swipe next to it is un-damaged and undisturbed. You take your own card and swipe it, leading yourself to the back of the club which, thankfully, is completely untouched.

You breathe in the smell of backstage and the sensation of ‘home’ pleasantly washes over you. Its metal and fog and something musty that always reminds you of a job well done. It had a different smell over in the Natura theater. Less metal, more earthy, but no less pleasing. You’ve grown accustomed to the bright blue walls that surround you ever since he’d taken you on. It doesn’t make you miss your old job, you’ve just found enjoyment in another aesthetic. You can have more than one.

The walk to the DJ’s dressing room is short. You take his keycard and let yourself in, reminding yourself that you were literally here two days ago listening to him ramble on about the satellite launch.

It’s weird how such a short period of time can feel like a small lifetime ago.

You check your phone and find that no, the small amount you put it on at home wasn’t quite enough, and now it’s dying. You pocket it and look for the cabinet he’s talking about and find it next to the dressing room mirror. There’s about three of them in there, all identical, globes containing the vast coalescence of space as you know it, and possibly as you don’t know it. You stare into the void of the orb and it’s pinpricks of light and shapes, looking for answers you know you won’t find. Is everything going to be alright? What’s going to happen to you now?

And the worst question of all...

Is all of this your fault?

Would Bunk Bed Junction have busted through the doors of the club if you’d paid more attention to security? Would they have broken so many of the decorations you’d had set up if you’d stepped in somehow? Would things have gone differently if you’d offered your assistance, knowing that the egomaniacal DJ wouldn’t have accepted it?

Could you have done more to prevent this from happening?

You shake your head. The void will not give you the answers you seek. The void is empty and riddled with illusions of promises, written out in constellations nobody will truly understand.

Well, almost nobody.

You pock the helmet under your arm and close the cabinet, content in knowing that the level of security in the club in this section is unmarred, for now. You’ll do everything you can to keep it that way, you reason, as you go leave DJ Subatomic Supernova’s dressing room for what may possibly be the last time. The table doesn’t glow like it did two days ago, the bright white cosmic furniture now seeming like a relic, speculation of what a future room may look like in a show room. Not a room you spend four to five nights out of the week in.

But you digress.

You go to text him letting him know you have a helmet, and your phone dies mid-message.

You sigh. Of course.

The door closes and you make your way deeper, to your own side-room. It’s technically a lounge, and others do lounge there from time to time, but there’s a bed and a computer and what you came there for anyway.

Your CD’s.

You’re stunned he hasn’t found them yet, or commented on them, or done anything really, considering what they are. They’re his songs, revised, remixed, with added classical effects done by you. Classical touches, some with guitar, some with more EDM and revised bits.

You’re not a DJ, but you know your way around a sound system. You know how to mix things, how to tune, how to make something new out of something old. You have musical expertise, just not of this particular genre, but when it comes to his songs you’ve got skills aplenty. You own a guitar. You own two, actually. One acoustic, one electric. Nothing fancy. You can play them fairly well, but you only bring them out when you feel the inspiration from his music flow through you.

You’re not in love with him. Or his music. Because you don’t _prefer_ EDM, or Discotheque House, or whatever else he decides to come up with.

But his music sounds like home to you now, and part of you wants to have a place in it.

You can't tell him though.

He’s your _boss_.

Well...maybe not anymore.

You don’t know.

You take the CD’s and shove them in your bag.

You grab a pair of headphones and a tablet and also shove them in your bag. As cover. Just in case he asks.

You almost don’t want to leave the club, but as you take a step outside and take in the state of the area around it, you decide it’s probably better if you don’t draw attention to yourself here. There’s a very staunch group of anarchists in the area now and you don’t want to get caught up in anything violent.

You pass through Sayu’s area with no issue, but you do recognize that it’s a lot shorter of a walk than it used to be. Probably because BBJ’s used the charter record to move the districts. It’s…..fine? You guess? But it does herald some speculation. Why are they connecting the districts so closely? What are they trying to accomplish?

You stare at the NSR tower in the distance and put two and two together. Fueled by the additional rumors around you as you pass through the eye-popping district, you make a beeline back towards your home.

You’re not surprised to see him still in his hoodie, still pulled over his head, still lounging on the pull out couch as you make your way inside. You’re not sure if he’s even awake, but he does jolt a bit when you drop the helmet in his lap.

“The back’s unbothered, in case you were wondering.” You tell him as you round the couchbed. “Everything was completely untouched in the rooms, and you have plenty of backup helmets there. The front of the club is a mess though. It’s going to take days to clean up, if I can even clean it. They’ve connected Sayu’s district to yours and I heard rumors that they’re going after her next.” You tell him, bolstering your bag.

“I see.” He picks up his helmet and investigates it, turning it around presumably for cracks. “And, what was it that you needed to go back for so desperately?”

You pull the tablet and headphones out of your bag. “I have too much information on here. Needed to get it out of the club so I knew nobody would break in and tamper with it, or pawn it. Or worse. I also left my favourite headphones.”

If he could blink, you’d think he blinked. There’s a pause, and you’re sure it could be a blink, or something, but you don’t put too much thought into it. “Those are the ones I gave you when you first started working for me.”

He’s right. They’re an older model compared to the ones he sells now. Older by at least three models, but they still work well. They still function. And they legitimately are some of the best headphones you own. Just because they’re not the highest tech doesn’t mean they don’t hold up to market standard.

But the sentimentality of his tone is what makes your face heat up when you put them back in the bag.    
  
“Yeah, well, they’re still really good headphones. I’ve gotta put these two things away but uh...before I do….” Your anxiety is getting the better of you and it shouldn’t. You don’t need to have this conversation. But you do and part of you needs to know, so you have to ask. “Am I- _was_ I...a good club supervisor? Like….I’m good at my job and I know what I’m doing, obviously, or you wouldn’t keep me on, but like….”

You trail off, unsure how to really word the question in a way that doesn’t seem needy or affirmation-seeking. 

You shake your head.

“Y’know what, don’t answer that. It’s cool. I know I’m competent at my job. Was competent. It’s cool. I’m gonna put these away and take a nap and probably make food when I wake up. Sorry. I’m in a weird headspace. We’ll pick this up after I wake up, I-”

“You didn’t answer.”

He breaks your train of thought before you can escape, the statement throwing you off.

“Huh?”

“Your phone.” he clarifies, showing off his. “I called you while you were out to see how you were doing, to see if you were faring safely, and you didn’t answer me. I thought you were ignoring me. Which is quite rude, if I’m being honest.”

You blush. He called? For your safety?    
  
Don’t think about it. You work(ed) for him, he was probably checking up on you and seeing if you’d grabbed his helmet or not. You’re close.   
  
“Yeah uh….my phone died. The charge on it wasn’t enough and it died while I was in the club. I forgot to bring a charger.”

“Oh. I see. Well...you should be more observant in the future. You never know when I might need you."

You blush harder. “Duly noted. I’m uh...gonna go. Sleep. And stuff. Uh….have a good night?”

You make a quick escape down the hallway. To the locked room that you’ve thankfully installed a keypad outside of. Its not suspicious or anything.You need absolute silence in the room and assurance that nobody will break into it or anything while you’re there.

It has to have a lock.

It’s the one super high tech thing you decided to put in your house and you’re thankful for it every day.

Behind the door lies your recording studio. A professional looking one. Padded foam ridged with bumps lines the walls. Your own sound station is set up next to a hanging microphone with a soft cover on it to prevent dust and popping effects. Off on the side is one of your pride and joys, your Electric Guitar, a Fender Statocaster, one of the vintage issues they made before NSR took over the city. Wood finish, clean kept strings, perfectly tuned.

You’d dropped a good portion of your paycheck on this thing.

Normally when you look at it you swell with pride. You revel in the chance to take a few hours out of your day to make little songs, play over others, remix some of His, but not today.

Today you look at it and you feel _guilt_.

You feel the weight of someone else’s sins bear down on your shoulders, and it’s unsettling.

You didn’t cause this. You’re not in league with Bunk Bed Junction. Before a few days ago you weren’t even aware they existed. You don’t play Rock explicitly.

You do play. You play downstairs, outside the coffee shop, for the customers passing by and for the people in the shop, every Thursday, and it’s the highlight of your week. It’s a breath of fresh air when you work in a system that’s so heavily electro, but you make a space for yourself and you’re welcomed, appreciated, and you breathe. It’s a surge of emotion and pride that you keep with you every time you place your fingers on the strings.

But today the guitar’s existence is a reminder of what placed you here in this point and time, and it’s a niggling feeling at the back of your neck you can’t get rid of, and you hate it.

So you drop off your CD’s, you drop your headphones, and the rest of your bag and you grab your phone. You leave the room and walk to your bedroom, closing it behind you, plugging in your phone, and once again drifting off to dreamland after hitting your pillow.

Your nap turns into sleep, and you wake up several hours later than you intended.

And to your pleasant surprise, you wake up to the smell of food.

* * *

He’s making breakfast.

Because what else can he do in this situation that isn’t freeloading.

DJ Subatomic Supernova doesn’t freeload. He has too many accomplishments in his life to mooch off of one of his employees. He’s not so arrogant to take advantage of their generosity, so he’d like to think. He _certainly_ doesn’t want his reputation as a hardworking contributor to modern day society be tarnished by the _thought_ of complacency.

So, he can be self-absorbed. Who wouldn’t be, with all that he’s done. Accredited professor, successful musician, astrophysicist and engineer. Thermo-nuclear physics specialist. 

Rocket Scientist.   
  
There’s too many to count really.

But it doesn’t mean he’s inclined to take advantage of someone he once saved from ruin.

And who’s also trying their best to do the same for him.

So he’s here. Making mushroom and cheese omelettes even though time is an illusion and there’s no such thing as breakfast because honestly, what musician runs a proper sleep schedule these days.

“There’s too much to do, really.” He muses to himself.

“What’s too much to do.”

He’s not startled to hear the sound of your voice. He wasn’t _expecting_ you to wake up, but he did prepare for it. Both of your schedules are out of sync and the past few days experiences haven’t really helped normalize them. Lack of a gig equals lack of conviction to go to said gig and do your normal job that currently doesn’t exist. You’re both adjusting, but at least you won’t be adjusting hungry.

“Nothing.” he says, flipping the frying pan that looks comically small in his large hands. He’s fixed himself, put on his new helmet, shrugged off his jacket. He’s still a big guy, and these utensils aren’t made for him.

Then again, he navigates a world made for people of smaller stature than him, physically and metaphorically. There’s very few things that aren’t either of his own design or someone else’s modifications that suit his specific needs. The world around him conforms to his loftiness, and that’s exactly how he prefers it.

Including you, to some respect.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, not because he has to or to keep an idle conversation, but because he does care about the answer.

“Well enough.” You reply, sitting down and watching him cook. Probably laughing internally about the size difference between his fingers and your utensils. Because he knows you well and knows that you get a chuckle out of things like this. “You’re cooking?”

“Yes, well, I can’t very well _freeload_ if i’m spending my time here. I do have a reputation to uphold.” He says, putting the omelette on a plate that’s also proportionally hilarious. He serves it to you carefully. He’d….probably dislike it quite a bit if he shattered any of your dinnerware. Yes. He’d definitely dislike it. “Besides, we still have a lot of work to do if I’m going to get my district back. You’ll need your strength if you’re going to be orbiting me all day.”

“All day? Sounds like you’ve got a plan.” You say as you turn on the tv.

To a breaking news bulletin.

About Bunk Bed Junction.

_ "Once again, the group known as Bunk Bed Junction has hijacked yet another concert. Even the cute and bubbly Sayu was not spared from their plan for total dominance. We managed to get ahold of these two elusive rockers while they were cowardly fleeing from the scene at Akusuka last night-” _

The tv shuts off, and DJ Subatomic Supernova looks over at you to find an expression he’s...never really seen on your face before.

Rage

“What are they doing…” You start, voice low and whispered. “What are they _doing_. First you, now Sayu. What reason could they _possibly_ have for going after the NSR artists. What are they _thinking_. Don’t they know how hard we work to make sure you guys keep your shows going? What did _Sayu_ do to deserve that? She’s a digital Idol, she doesn’t have any _plans_ for anything. She can’t even _think_ for herself. First you, now Sayu. Who’s next!!”

He watches you go silent, realization crossing your features in a split second show of apprehension and fear that he also hasn’t seen on your face before.

“Yinu is next.” He says, coming no doubt to the same conclusion you have. “Judging by their projected path, it seems as though they’re heading straight for NSR tower, where Tatiana is. If I were to make a guess, they’re doing this due to their less-than exemplary reception at the Lights Up Audition, and are now wreaking havoc amongst Vinyl City in a pathetic excuse for a temper tantrum. After Sayu’s district, logically, is the Natura district where we currently reside.”

“They can’t come here.” You say, omelette forgotten and growing cold by the minute. “They already took Club Planetarium, they can’t take here too. I _live_ here. This can’t happen.”

If he could frown, he would. “Are you concerned that they will somehow take your apartment away from you?”

“I don’t know.” You say. “I don’t know what they’re going to do. I already lost my job, and they’re gaining fans by the hundreds now. I just checked the satellite and they’ve already jumped above Sayu’s name. Do you know how big her fanbase is?? And they’ve surpassed it in a few days?? And we don’t know what their **fans** will do either. If they’re hellbent on destroying NSR, who’s to say they aren’t also hell bent on destroying anything affiliated.”

He takes in your words and watches your face contort into disgust at the word 'fans'. You make an excellent point. If Bunk Bed Junction’s credo is to do away with NSR, their fans are likely to share the same mindset. He absolutely doesn’t linger on the fact that Sayu has more fans than him, because he does not do this for the fans. He makes music for himself, for his pursuits, and for no one and nothing else. But Bunk Bed Junction’s supposed beeline to the top is a threat to him and his endeavors, and unfortunately he comes to a saddening and, for lack of a better word, guilty conclusion.

“I should have stopped them.”   
  
You blink at him. “No! No, it wasn’t you. You were great, it wasn’t your fault. If anything, it was mine. I was running the club and security let them in. I should have been more diligent about our rules and regulations. I should have had more people posted up outside.”

Curious, he thinks. Curious and incorrect. “Laughable.” He says, and he watches you flinch at his tone and he feels something about it that he’ll unpack later. “Your work, as always, was nothing less than exemplary. The constellations in the sky, the planets and cosmic accessories that revolve around my stage, have absolutely nothing on your static presence ever by my side. You are, and always have been, a paragon of consideration and care when it comes to my shows and operations. You did nothing wrong. I was who they came for. I was who they fought. I was the one who channeled the very energy of the universe into my music and assault, and I was the one who failed. And it was ultimately due to the poor rating I gave them. I am the Alpha and Omega of this loss.”

He takes perceptive note of your face as he talks, how your eyes widen when he calls you a paragon, how your face flushes red and how you seem stunned by his words. Similar to a time long ago, in a lecture hall filled with three people and a janitor, in the eyes of a young girl. In a time where one song, like a virus, took hold of you and the other two and solidified your working relationship.

Though, now he realizes later on, he should have cultivated one of a different kind. Maybe.

You clear your throat and continue to stare downward. “You wouldn’t have had to fight them if I was more perceptive. I could have stopped them.”

"You are a good supervisor."

His words make you look at him, finally, and part of him accepts it as a victory.  


"What?"

"You're a good manager, and I like having you around." he says, because he's not sure if he'll get another chance. "I just thought you should know."

Silence sits in the air, heavy and thick enough to feel bearing down on you two.

And then you laugh

Weakly.

“Never been one for a pity party.” You say, standing up from your spot and walking over to the door. “I need some fresh air.”

“You haven’t touched your breakfast.” he says, and his voice is smaller than he’d like and oh, he hates that. He hates that feeling and he hates the way his voice sounds just then. And you notice too, he sees, because the look you give him is an odd one he can’t place. You smile at him, but it’s not real, and he hates that too.

“Put it in the fridge for me.”

And you leave, and he watches you go, and the omelette grows cold, like the distance between you.


	5. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your blood boils, for more than one reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ya'll like Kliff
> 
> Because I don't.
> 
> Also featured in this chapter: Lore? Backstory?
> 
> Also I changed the characters stage-name. It was originally going to be this name in the first place and I....blanked.

The night is long, and it has only just begun.

For all intents and purposes, Natura district is your home. It always has been, and it always will be. Cast Tech District is another kind of home, but that’s your work home. That’s where you go to do your job and be graced with the presence of one of the most magnanimous beings you’ve ever been near. It’s a district with bright lights, subdued blues, futuristic vibes, and every time you step into it you find it hard to believe you’re on the same planet. The district, the music, the people, it all seems a million light years away, as if the very inspiration of the cosmos coalesce into a tiny set of city blocks.

There’s only one man responsible for it and you can’t bear to be anywhere near him right now.

The Natura district is nothing like DJ Subatomic Supernova’s crafted legacy. It’s down to earth, homey, and as the name suggests, natural. It boasts of a time in the past while keeping up with the demands of the present. It’s changed, what hasn’t, and it stopped being the Natura district you fawned over as a child a long time ago, but it was still yours. It was still a fragment of the departed Masters, their proteges, their instruments. You pass by the bookstore and take a glance at the magazine sitting on the planter. It’s been left out too long and has grown thick with old rain water. You’re not sure why they keep it there, but you’ve passed by it a few times.

The streets are empty enough that you can meander without having to really acknowledge anybody. Most people here spend their days sitting at the cafe’s, working on paperwork or schoolwork or something else important while they sip their coffee and delve into the bright screens of their laptops and tablets late into the night. The sun rises long before most people realize they’re tired here, because that’s what this district does. It makes you forget that you’re tired.

Also, Yinu’s commercial on repeat in the background is really, _really_ annoying.

You scoff at one of the TV’s as you walk by.

You don’t hate Yinu. She’s 9 years old and she has very little control over her life. You genuinely like her music and she’s very talented.  
  
You do, however, absolutely hate her mother.

It must show something fierce, because the next thing you know somebody’s clearing their throat next to you, and it startles you.

You flinch and look over to see a tanned man with wild red hair, glasses, and a very very long scarf. He looks to be somewhere in his forties, maybe early fifties. You smooth down your hair in an attempt to look casual and absolutely not like you were glaring daggers at a 9 year old on a television.

“Hello.” You start. “Can I uh...can I help you?”

He smiles, and it’s one that oozes capriciousness. There’s a mirth in his eyes that borders on mischievous, but that could be your own eyes playing tricks on you. “Yes I believe you might, actually. I...couldn’t help but notice the pointed glare you were giving the television. The kind of glare that has a reason behind it.”

You flush, mortified at being caught, and a little more mortified by being caught by...whoever the hell this guy is. “I don’t hate Yinu.” You say immediately, already knowing how bad it sounds the second it leaves your lips. “I mean, I’m not glaring at the TV’s because of Yinu. I like Yinu. She’s a good kid.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I’d imagine she is. Can’t say for certain though, I’ve never met her. But I _am_ interested in watching her perform. I’m uh, not exactly from around here, and you look like a local. Could you show me to Natura concert hall? If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

You blink. “Oh uh, yeah, sure. It’s a bit of a walk from here. How’d you get all the way on this side of the district?”

He puts his hands behind his back. “Oh, y’know. The roads are mazes, the trees are similar. It’s the kind of place you just... _naturally_ find yourself lost in. I got so distracted by the scenery that before long I didn’t know which way I was going.”

“Yeah I feel that.” You put your hands in your pockets and walk over to him, nodding your head for him to follow. “I used to work there so I know the way pretty well. It’s really easy to get caught up in the ambiance here. I used to spend hours in the terrarium cafe’s just, watching people go by while listening to the classics.”

He falls in step beside you. “Really? You worked there? Now isn’t that something. What did you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You take a breath, a sigh, a frown.

It’s….been a while since you’ve talked to anyone about it.

“I was a stage tech a few years ago.” You tell him, the winding path around the bridge secondhand memory to you by now. “My parents were performers. Dad played strings, Mom played woodwind. Whenever Reka Shankar performed their recitals at the theater, my parents would be her secondary orchestra along with about twenty or so others. I basically grew up listening to the Masters and their verses. When I was about ten or so my father started teaching me the guitar, but I didn’t have the passion for music like my parents did. When I turned thirteen I was more interested in the behind the scenes work and how so many people that weren’t performers were equally as important to the performance. I started learning the basics of being a stagehand and at sixteen they offered me a position. I ended up climbing up the ranks to Stage Manager there up until about three years ago.”

“Three years ago…” He muses “If I’m not mistaken, that’s around the time that NSR sponsored Yinu.”

You grimace. He’s sharp. And informed. “And DJ Subatomic Supernova, yeah.”

He laughs again, almost as if it’s truly amusing to him “Well! That explains the glare. Can’t say I blame you. What happened next?”

“I was fired.” You tell him, morbidly, as the lights shining from the amphitheater dome dot the night sky ahead of you. You’re still a distance away. “We all were. Yinu’s mom took over full production of the stage and laid off all thirty of us stagehands, effectively stripping my title from me. I was picked up by DJ Subatomic Supernova shortly after and I’ve been working for him since.”

He changes then, you notice. You can’t tell how, but something in him changes. The way he’s walking shifts a bit, his eyes change, and you’re not sure how you notice it, but you do. “I see. That’s quite a tale. Going from a classical music stage to one so heavily laden with EDM vibes. I can’t imagine the culture shock you must have gone through.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” You blush and look away.

And you remember like it was yesterday

* * *

“I can’t _fucking_ believe this!” You scream into the abyss behind the amphitheater, kicking one of the discarded pieces of equipment that is now functionally useless to you. “Ten years of my life I gave to this place, and what do I get for it?!”

You grumble and sit down on the backstage steps leading into the building, head in your hands as you slump over yourself.

You grew up in this theater and now some _woman_ and her _preschooler_ think they can just come in and _fire you_.

Worst of all, you’re the last one she told. Because she needed you to show her the ropes. Because she’s the Charter of the district now and she can do whatever she wants apparently!!

You want to scream, you want to kick and punch something and tear something in half, but the only thing you can do in your enraged state is hiccup and wail.

You didn’t just lose your job. Your entire life’s work was just ripped away from you in one fell swoop.

What are your parents going to think?

You sob again as tears threaten to blind you. Your parents, your wonderful supportive parents who left to travel the continent with the Masters when you’d come of age and regularly checked on you to see how you were doing, how the old palace was holding up. Your sweet dad and tenacious mom and the memories and wisdom they’d imparted onto you.

You needed to call them and tell them that you were fired by a toddler.

You scream at the thought.

Ragged and full of longing and despair, you scream into the empty loading dock in front of you, voice absorbed into the void of night as fury and pain lace through every fiber of your being.

And when you stop...another voice enters the fray.

“Excuse me.”

You flinch, taken aback by someone else being there. You’re in no state to be talking to anyone right now. You wipe your eyes and nose with the sleeves of your sweater as you try to get a good look at this new stranger that’s approached you.

How did you not notice him there?

How did you not _notice him_?

You sniff and do your best to pull yourself together for this….man? His voice sounded masculine. Deep and rich in one excerpt, the kind of voice you could get accustomed to listening to. He was _massive_. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, in a light blue button down shirt with a darker blue vest over it. His legs were noticeably skinnier, donned by black business pants. He was also wearing a comically oversized hoodie with space themed decorations on it. You aren’t exactly sure if it’s the hoodie that’s making him look big, or if he’s just _like that_.

You take one look at his hands and realize, yeah, this guy is just...Giant.

“Uh….hi.” You wipe your eyes one more time. “I’m...i’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. How uh...how can I help you?”

“Fascinating.” he says almost immediately, and you’re not sure exactly what’s so fascinating. “Yes, My name is DJ Subatomic Supernova. I’ve come to speak to the new charter of this district. I have some information from Tatiana that we need to discuss as NSR artists about her responsibilities regarding the Lights Up auditions. I really could have had this done remotely but, she insisted I come in person.”

“Oh yeah. They’re starting that soon.” You stand yourself up and brush off your pants. “You’re the other new NSR artist? Nice to meet you. Yinu is uh...well. She’s busy right now and you’re probably going to have to go through her mom first. I’ll warn you right now, that lady is not nice and she will not be nice to you if you do anything even _remotely_ accusatory towards her daughter.”

He takes a second, and you feel like you know he’s trying to analyze the situation. “I see. Is that the reason why you were yelling so desperately to the stars? Because her mother ‘wasn’t nice’ to you?”

You frown and scoff at the DJ. “No. I was yelling so desperately to the stars because Yinu’s mom just fired me after she tricked me into teaching her how to do my job.”

He scoffs himself, as if this conversation is ridiculous and beneath him. “That wasn’t the sound of someone losing their job. It was the sound of someone grieving.”

“It’s complicated.” You turn and walks up the steps. “Listen, if you need to talk to Yinu, I can get you inside and take you to her, but you’re going to have to go through her parents since she’s, like, barely out of preschool.”

“Prodigious genius is hard to come by. Her parents are fortunate to be cultivating hers at such an early age. She’s not _me_ , and she never will be, but everyone tries to start somewhere.” He takes a step forward. “Lead the way, if you can manage it.”

Its such a shame that such a gorgeous voice is coming from someone you really want to punch.

“Follow along, if you can manage it.” You snark right back at him and he falls in step behind you. “So, you’re the new charter for what district again?”

“Cast Tech.” He says. “A district that will be a shining new foray into music that will reach the edge of the universe. It’s a very high-tech district. Certainly nothing like this one and it’s earthen roots. You used to be the Stage Manager here? What did you do.”

You almost stop in your tracks to ask ‘how the hell did you know’, but the bright bold Stage Manager on the back of your jacket is a dead giveaway that you’ve completely forgotten about until right now.

You hide the growl from your voice when you speak. “You know, talking about it in the past tense seconds after I’ve told you I lost my job hurts a whole fuck of a lot.” 

“True. But you no longer work here, therefore you work will always _be_ in the past tense.” Oh boy you really wanna hit him “Just as stars die and are reborn from the cosmic dust they themselves create, you are just simply waiting for your next chance to shine. It is a rare opportunity given to a select few stars that persevere through the pressure the universe puts on them. You’re upset for no reason.”

You turn on him, stopping in your tracks. “I _grew up_ in this theatre.” You spit at him. “This theatre is my _home_. My _parents_ raised me on that stage and in those seats. I’ve watched a generation of some of the greatest musicians this city’s ever seen come and go, and I contributed to their performances. Maybe for someone like you, who has NSR backing them and hundreds of fans, it might not be a big deal to hear that someone as insignificant as me lost their job, but this theatre was my entire life, and some baby and her overprotective bitch of a mom came in and told me I don’t belong here anymore. I’m upset for a very justified reason, _DJ Subatomic Supernova_ , and quite frankly I’m appalled at your apathy.”

“Apathy? Interesting.” He folds his hands behind his back. “You are correct, somewhat. Apathetic as I may be to your insignificant plight, it does not mean I do not acknowledge it. Did you expect me to be empathetic towards a person I’ve just met? One that I initially had no interest in and planned to never see again? You clearly do not know who I am.”

“No. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care.”

He straightens up and, okay, yeah, picking a fight with this dude is a bad idea. You’re outmatched in height and weight _easily_. He could pick you up and toss you like a football if he wanted to, and now he’s looming over you and you regret very many things.

“Too bad.” His voice drops into something frustrated and deep and oh, oh you do not like the way your body reacted to _that_. “I am DJ Subatomic Supernova, NSR’s new EDM specialist, astrophysicist, accredited college professor, and charter for the Cast Tech district. My music will ripple to the rims of the galaxy and back, and you will bear witness to it.”

You cross your arms. “Will I?”

You think he’s smiling. It’s hard to tell under that globe of a head he has. “Oh, you will. You and everyone else in this city, but you’ll be one of the few with a front row seat of the event horizon that will be my musical transcendence. Once I’m done with this... _menial chore_.” He says, walking past you to Yinu’s lavishly decorated backstage door. “Stay here until I’m done.”

“Why? So you can berate me some more?”

“No, so I can _hire_ you.” He turns towards you. “It just so happens that I have a vacancy that needs filling at Club Planetarium. For an Operations Supervisor, no less. You have drive, you have experience, and you’re clearly a force to be reckoned with if you have the nerve to backtalk _me_.” He takes a few steps forward until he’s looming over you again. “You are a dying star, and I will be the pressure which brings you into a Nebula. In fact, that’s what I’m going to call you from now on.”

You gawk at him. “And what if I say no?!”

“You won’t. What other options do you have?” he chuckles and turns back towards the door, glowing and blue and filled with a level of narcissism you’ve never met in anyone else. You’re angry and frustrated and pissed off because of this guy in particular...but you don’t hate it.

You watch DJ Subatomic Supernova enter Yinu’s room and you fume.

* * *

“He’s a good boss.” You tell this new man, his weirdly mirthful eyes taking in your story. “Attentive, particular, always has something to say whether it’s good or bad. He pushed me really hard when I first started working for him and the music genre switch was a little difficult to adjust to, but it’s just another part of my life now. Or…. _was_ another part of my life. In case you haven’t heard the news, he was ejected from his club a few days ago.”

He beams when you mention BBJ’s hijacking, and you decide that you don’t think you like this guy. “Ah, yes! I saw that in the news. Those kids sure are a couple of firecrackers, lemme tell ya. Watched their Lights Up audition too. They’ve got a bright future ahead of them.”

“You sound like a fan.” You finally enter the downtown district, and the Natura Concert Hall looms in the distance. “I lost my job because of them. Club Planetarium was ransacked shortly after they beat the crap out of my boss. Others have already started drawing graffiti on the murals and buildings. They went after Sayu, and there’s rumors they’re going after Yinu next.”

He smiles, and you want to punch him. “Can’t say that I’m surprised. They’re on a warpath for a musical revolution steeped in rock and roll. I envy them. I don’t have what it takes to run after a bunch of high profile artists. I’m too stuck in the good old days and what used to be. I’ve seen The Masters perform too, y’know. Magnificent, all of them. Muru in particular was my favourite. An enigma if there ever was one, and a magician on the reeds.”

“They’re not causing a revolution, they’re causing a riot. And they’re putting innocent people at risk.” You ball your fists. “Do you know how many people were in the club when they broke in? Do you know how much collateral damage they did to it? How many people could have gotten hurt? If I hadn’t evacuated the club when they first started swinging, someone could have **died**! I saw the aftermath of the fight, I watched the fight happen in real time. If it was anyone else things could have been worse. And I’ve been dealing with the fallout and the guilt from it for the past half week because every time I think about it I can’t help but think that it was _my fault_. Their _musical revolution_ is dangerous and it’s putting innocent lives and jobs at risk.” You point to the amphitheater. “That theatre seats five-thousand people in it, and it’s packed to standing room only almost every night. If Bunk Bed Junction crashes this building, there’s going to be more than a few pulled strings and hurt feelings. People are going to get hurt due to their reckless behaviour, and the city is going to suffer because of it.”

His demeanor changes during your tirade. He straightens his back, his smile becomes pointed, eyelids lowering in a glare. “Don’t you think the city is already suffering? NSR has done nothing but siphon energy from the general public while giving absolutely nothing back. The power outages are so frequent in some areas that people can’t even keep their groceries fresh. Bunk Bed Junction is highlighting everything that’s wrong with the current system, and Yinu is a direct contributor to it, whether she likes it or not. She’s a talented young kid, don’t get me wrong, but you more than anyone should know what she’s capable of.”

“She’s capable of playing the piano and being very good at it.” You stopped walking a while ago, fountain water rushing in the background of your mind as you decide in this moment that you really, _really_ hate this man. “Yinu is a _child_. She’s a kid who has no control over her own life and is doing her best. If Bunk Bed Junction are really trying to take out the city’s top artists, Yinu doesn’t deserve it.”

He shrugs and looks longingly towards the theatre. “Then I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree. It might be the old man in me, but sometimes things are better the way they used to be. Then again, I’m the last person who should be telling you that. I appreciate the help getting me here. You’re a very helpful young person, but I think I can take myself the rest of the way. Those tickets aren’t going to buy themselves.”

You get a very bad feeling from that. “Are you planning on watching her one last time before Bunk Bed Junction breaks her little heart?”

He grins, and it’s not a nice one. “I’m afraid that’s none of your business. Have a _wonderful_ night.”

You watch him walk off in towards the ticket counter, waving at you as if he was an old friend taking his leave. Your blood boils and deep down you know that you’ve made a mistake.

But it’s late and you don’t have the energy to deal with this, so you do the only thing that you can think of doing in your current state.

You turn around and head to the nearest liquor store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no Betaaaa.
> 
> Kudos and comments fuel me. Please feed my massive ego.


	6. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DJ Subatomic Supernova doesn't have very many pillars of support.
> 
> He *is* a pillar of support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter which I apologize for but!! NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE LONG.

The NSR building is tall. Taller than any building in Vinyl City, for good reason. Every major city needs a decisive landmark, the DJ thinks, and NSR tower is the decisive landmark to which all citizens of the city direct their gaze when they find themselves staring upwards, heavenbound.

If DJ Subatomic Supernova believed in heaven, he wouldn’t be trying to traverse the stars, so he’s exempt.

It is also, however, a blot on the night sky that he cherishes so dearly, and he absolutely hates having to come here.

But some things can’t be helped.

The entryway is empty, and he’s confused. Normally there would be staff heading the information booth, a guide to bring people around the tower’s foyer and show off the various awards that each of the current and past musical predecessors have displayed on the walls. There’d be noise, sound, the monotony of everyday people going through their paces.

But there was nothing now, and he had a heavy feeling it was foreshadowing something.

But honestly, it isn’t his problem. This isn’t his district and he couldn’t care less about the absence of people he barely registers in his peripherals as he walks to the elevator.

The elevator is uneventful, though Tatiana’s public service announcement ringing through the speakers does give it a weird sort of ambiance. He tries not too hard to think about it. He doesn’t have any personal stake in what Tatiana does.

He only cares that he can keep doing what he’s been doing.

The elevator dings and he steps into Tatiana’s office. He doesn’t come here often and it’s always a spectacle when he does. Her desk is high off the ground, amusingly so, to the point where he questions the architect that designed this place. He watches The Crown circle the floor, a second hand to the skeletal clockwork that is the base of her workplace.

She looks up from her paperwork to greet him, and he’s glad he’s gotten that much.   
  
“Oh. DJ Subatomic Supernova. This is an unexpected visit.” She stands from her spot and he now notices that there is no feasible way for her to get up to the platform she’s on without jumping insanely high.

He should find whoever designed this office and send them back to college.

“I couldn’t help but notice that your foyer is deserted.” he steps forward. “I can only assume why it would be, but making uninformed hypotheses is counterintuitive to getting honest results.” 

She doesn’t react to his words externally, and doesn’t really seem at all interested in talking to him. “I’ve been very busy trying to deal with the havoc that Bunk Bed Junction’s been wreaking. If you have something to say, make it quick.”   
  
“The satellite launch went off flawlessly.” He starts. “I was unable to talk to you after it happened for...obvious reasons I’d rather not get into. My technology and engineering was, as usual, flawless in every aspect. Which is why I thought it an opportune time to go over what our next step would be with you.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Next step? Next step of what. The satellite has been launched, it’s orbiting safely around the world, broadcasting _my_ artist’s EDM for everyone to see. It’s done it’s job, and will continue to do it’s job while it’s up in space. There’s nothing left for it to do, and there is no ‘next step’.”

If he could frown he would. “I see. Then perhaps instead of expanding on that project, You could invest in a new one. I’ve been workin-”

“No.”

She cuts him off so abruptly he has to do a double take.

“Come again?”   
  
“I will not be investing in any of your projects.” She tells him point blank. “ _You_ lost your district to Bunk Bed Junction. While your previous contributions have been beneficial to NSR’s growth, right now you’re unreliable. You have no district, there’s two college aged idiots running around your area, and you think you can just waltz in here and request more money? For what? You’re a capable DJ, an impressive scholar, but you have to look at things from my perspective. As someone who runs NSR, knowing that two of my artists have been beaten by a bunch of hot-headed children, what right do I have to put my trust in someone who failed so miserably to keep _order_ in his _own district_?”

Oh he’s definitely not happy about that.    
  
“In case you haven’t been keeping up with the news, Sayu’s district was previously taken as well.” He rebukes. “Yinu’s district is likely their next target, and while I cannot speak for the contributions that Sayu and her creators have made for Vinyl City, surely I have done enough for NSR to prove my dedication to keeping your system intact. You would not be where you are today without my scientific contributions. One would think _that_ , at the very least, would warrant a modicum of trust.”

She takes a breath, one of aggravation he notes, as she walks around her desk and jumps down from her perch effortlessly.

“Your position in NSR as one of my artists...is based on your ability to maintain yourself in the face of the chaos currently going on in the city. And while it’s true that one of the reasons we signed you on in the first place _was_ because of your spacefaring technology and contributions to our cause, you have proven recently with your loss that you are unable to prevent chaos from consuming you. Which is why I have devised a backup plan.” She leans around him to look at her door and the Dj twists around to see what she’s looking at.

He watches Eve walk in with a comically large horn of some kind. A Shofar? No, definitely not. Wrong geographic.

“What….is that.” He asks plainly.

“It is the Horn of Mending.” Tatiana walks around him to take it from her. “It will stop Mayday and Zuke in their tracks, guaranteed.”

Eve huffs. “I _still_ don’t know _why_ we have to rely on _him_ for help.”

“Because if there’s anything that can stop a child from throwing a tantrum, it’s an older family member.” Tatiana turns around to smirk at her over her shoulder. “You should know better than anyone how obscuring he can be.”   
  
“We were in the middle of a conversation.” He points out, miffed at being dismissed so easily.   
  


Tatiana stops, and turns to him. “Right. Well. Music aside, you are one of the forefronts of EDM music in this city. If we lose you completely, it would make us look bad. You _are_ still a member of NSR, and you will continue to be for now. If only to uphold the image that everything is exactly how it should be. Consider this a probationary period until you reclaim your district. You can still make music, I’m not going to stop you, but until you get your section of the city under control, you’re not getting any more money from me.”   
  
The two NSR artists say nothing as they watch Tatiana walk out to the balcony of the tower. The DJ turns to Eve, who gives him a look he can’t quite place.   
  
“Don’t ask.”   
  
“Honestly, I don’t particularly care enough to.” He tells her. “Though, if this doesn’t work, you will be the last line of defense standing between the Plutonians and this tower.”   
  
She frowns and crosses her arms. “I don’t want to hear anything from someone who has _already_ lost their district.”

If he could smirk, he would. “And yet, my satellite launched successfully and still orbits the planet, so did I really lose?”   
  
She makes an aggravated sound and stomps off after Tatiana, and he recognizes the end of a conversation when he sees it. He leaves, and the elevator ride down holds a different tune to it.

Once he reaches the ground floor and steps outside, he thinks.

Because he has to in this situation.

Tatiana holds no positivity for him after losing his district. Eve couldn’t care less about him, but they’re coworkers. They don’t necessarily have to _like_ each other. Sayu isn’t a real person and he has very little contact with her creators, he doesn’t particularly feel like trying to warn Yinu or her mother of the upcoming hijacking.

But he can warn someone else.

He pulls out his phone.

_ \-- Attention! You have reached the personal phone of Neon J! I am busy at work, preparing my troops for their oncoming battles. Leave a message after the beeeeeeep~ -- _

Voicemail. Of course.   
  
“J. This is DJ Subatomic Supernova. I’m unaware of whether or not you’ve been keeping up with the news, but there’s a high possibility that you will be under attack in the next several days. Bunk Bed Junction has taken over my district along with Sayu’s, and they seem to be going for Yinu next. If she fails, you will become their next target. Prepare yourself accordingly.”   
  
He hangs up and…..sighs. He sighs, because he has to. Because it’s a reset button that he desperately needs right now.

He has no funding, he has no support from NSR. He has no district. He has no home currently.

But……he has you.

And he’s always had you, now that he thinks about it.

If he is the sun, which is a terribly shallow and small comparison, then you are Mercury. The closest one to orbit him and share in his light. You are the nebula formed from the dying star he saw potential in when you first met, molded through pressure and perseverance to become something...oddly sentimental to him. You are his second in command, his supervisor and manager, and his friend.   
  
And...maybe something else.

You are his best chance at securing a future that he wants.

And you are alone right now.

He calls a cab.


	7. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol and Emotions are not a good combination.
> 
> You're not a bartender and you don't know how to mix drinks, but you do know that mixing your two lives was a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy this was lethargic.
> 
> As someone who was blackout drunk Very Recently, it was great to project here.
> 
> I've also been contemplating removing the set chapters in preparation for writing something sort of like an 'aftermath' scenario? I have the whole fic planned out but, I don't want to have to write an entirely new fic for stuff I might want to do later. What do you think? Should I continue?

You’ve been drinking.

You started pretty much as soon as you left that guy to his paces. You know something bad is going to happen. You know Bunk Bed Junction is heading for your district. You know the Natura Concert Hall is the next target.

And you’ve been playing your guitar alone in your house for the past twenty minutes.

You pulled it out of your recording room...for what? Because you could? Because you thought it could make you feel something? Because you’re having a shitty day?   
  
You strum the strings and as elated as you would normally feel, having your hands on it reminds you of the defeat that DJ Subatomic Supernova faced at the hands of Bunk Bed Junction.

You strum it, and you might be crying, but you can’t tell. If there’s hot water falling down your face, you don’t care.   
  
You pour the remnants of your vodka and orange soda into a water bottle and grab your wallet, phone, and keys. You’re not so drunk as to forget your essentials. Nobody should ever be _that_ drunk.

You lock your door and stumble out of your building. It’s late now, so late that barely anybody is out, and you revel in it. This is the time you’d normally be coming down off one of DJSS’s shows, or hanging out in one of the terrarium gardens or cafe’s and watching the people go by. Natura District is a daytime district, but there’s solace in the night and the privacy it brings. It gives you the opportunity to look at everything a little differently, a little less busy and packed. And while the district itself thrives when the sun is up, there’s peace in the night.

You pull out your phone and *try* to text your other two coworkers. You haven’t heard from them since the defeat and you find that odd. You’d think they’d be a bit concerned about their jobs, but they’re probably in hiding, just like you are. You’re not fugitives, you’ve done nothing wrong and there’s no reason for you to be _hiding_ , but you know they’re probably just as unsure as you are, so you send them both messages.   
  
You have to concentrate very hard and you misspell three or four words, but you send the messages anyway.   
  
And then you text your boss.

And the screen stays open for a while as you plop down onto a bench, taking a mouthful of the orangey concoction and staring at your phone.

What could you possibly say now? Like this? After all that’s happened? It hasn’t even been that long since Bunk Bed Junction ran through your second home, but the last week feels like an entire year of traumatic events piled into one. You don’t know if you have a job anymore, Sayu was beaten and effectively destroyed by two renegade rockstars, Natura district is their next target, and you’re getting drunk during the witching hour because you’re afraid.

You are afraid.

You’re……afraid?

Yes. You’re afraid.

You’re afraid of what happens next.

Because anything could happen next.

Bunk Bed Junction could win. The Natura District could be overrun by sympathizers sharing their plight. The stadium you cherish could be destroyed just like Club Planetarium. You could be a target if they see you supporting DJ Subatomic Supernova. Your home could be in jeopardy. Vinyl City’s future could hang in the balance.

And you’re scared because there’s nothing you can do.

Because you let them into Club Planetarium in the first place.

You take another drink.

And now….now DJ Subatomic Supernova is….living in your house? Because he also has nowhere to go? Even though he’s still a successful musician, even if he doesn’t have a set place to spin? He’s living in your house because you’re probably the only option he has right now, and you don’t know where he is because he wasn’t at your house when you stopped by. He doesn’t have a key to get back in, so he probably won’t be there when you get back. But you’re not planning to go back to your house anytime soon. So you sit and stare at the open text screen of your phone as you contemplate DJ Subatomic Supernova and come to a horrifying conclusion.

You’re in love with him.

And you hate yourself because of it.

“How could I ‘ve _possibly_ fallen ‘n love with ssssomeone so _arrogant_.” You whisper out loud and put your head back, splaying out on the empty bench and wallowing in front of no witnesses. “How...could I have possibly found somethin’ _positive_ in him. Hes’s rude, an’ stubborn, and he doesn’t _care about others_. He believes….he’s the damn _sun_ to which everything revolves around ‘nd is _infuriatingly_ c’mpelling. Why did I _do_ this. Why did I agree to work for hiiiiiiiim.”

You take another sip of your drink.

“Because you had no other choice.”   
  
You immediately choke on your drink as DJ Subatomic Supernova steps out of a car and closes the door behind him. The car drives off. You’re...a little _too_ drunk to be surprised enough to be embarassed. You’re not a child. This isn’t embarrassing and you’re not going to act embarrassed.

“You’re an asshole.” You tell him with all the confidence you can muster.

He puts his arms behind his back. “Is that so?”

You nod and point at him. “You’re ‘n _asshole_. You’re infuriating and the mossst conceited motherfucker i’ve _ever_ had the displeasure ‘f meeting. The day I ran into you I wanted ta punch you in the head-orb. You’re a prick and workin’ for you…...is a nightmare. And it _sucks_ be-” You hiccup slightly. “-because I _need_ you, and I don’t even know if you _need_ or _want_ me around half the time because i’m just so used t’you _ignoring me_. An’ it sucks even more because….I don’t know if I have a _job_ anymore. I don’t know if I’ll have a _home_ after this...this…. _music rev’lution_ these two kids are runnin’ around tryna do.”

He seems to take in your general appearance, and then your water bottle glowing orange, and it seems to click together in his head.

“You’ve been drinking.”   
  
“Damn right I’ve been drinking.” You say, taking another sip. That’s half the bottle. “I met this guy, y’know? Don’t know his name, don’t care. But he was _worse_ than you. Because he was….he was a _sympathizer_ of those two plutocrat kids. And he wanted t’see Yinu play before...before she’s prob’ly beaten by them! An’ i told thissss motherfucker my whole life story, and it _sucked_. I liked my life! I liked working here, in the Natura District. Its where my parents played. Its where I grew up an’ where I call home. An’ now I don’t even know if I’ll have _that_ anymore.” You stand up from your seat on the bench and it’s wobbly. You point at him. “At least _you_ have a job you can fall back on. You’re a forty-one year old astrophysicist and college professor. You’ve got like…. _tenure_ or whatever the fuck. You know what i’ve got? Nothing! I don’t have a job at the Planetarium anymore, I cant apply for a job at the Natura concert hall because it’s about to be _ransacked_. And who in their right mind is gonna wanna hire the technician who worked for the first guy Bunk Bed Junction beat the crap out of before heading off to _everyone else on the chart apparently_. So yeah, Ive been drinking. Because everything’s shit right now and I….I miss my life. And I didn’t know where you were because you weren’t at my place so that was just another piece of icing on the cake.”

You fall back onto the bench and you drop your water bottle, contents falling out much like your stressed internal monologue. You could get in trouble for littering, you don’t care.

DJ Subatomic Supernova steps forward and says nothing for a second….before picking you up bridal style and walking away with you.

You’re too drunk to be indignant and you’re too old to be flustered, so you roll your head back onto his arm and look blearily up at him. The lights in his sphere glisten like the stars, and they move and shift like the cosmos itself is expanding in his visage.   
  
“What’re you doing an’ wher’re we goin’?”   
  
“We’re going back to your place.” He says without a falter in his step “You could get arrested for public intoxication, and the conversation you’re trying to have with me isn’t one to be screamed into the open air.”   
  
You make grabby hands around his arm. “My water bottle….”   
  
“The street crew will clean it up.”   
  
“Littering’s illegal too.”   
  
“There were no witnesses.”

“You were a witness.” You huff at him. “You gonna call the cops on me?”   
  
He scoffs “You’re not worth their abysmally pathetic paycheck.”

You want to fight. You want to wiggle out of his grasp and tell him that you can walk on your own, that you don’t need to be held or carried and that he doesn’t have to do this, but you don’t.

Because this is nice.

His arms cradle you easily and you lean into him, head fuzzy and face red as you take in that DJ Subatomic Supernova is _cradling you in his arms_. And that he _chose to do this_. And you can’t for the life of you imagine why.

“I spoke to Tatiana.” he says, a few minutes into the walk. “I went to NSR Tower in the hopes that she would be there.”   
  
You scoff. “The bullseye on the gigantic target that is our city. What’d she say?”   
  
“She said that NSR will no longer be funding my research or my music until I’ve managed to reclaim my district.” He says, and your heart sinks a bit more. “Which means that, as of right now, I have no sponsor.”   
  
Your eyes widen. “An’ without a sponsor, you can’t use NSR’s tech back at your district to make music.”   
  
“Precisely.” He turns his head down towards you. “It seems as though we are in the same boat. And, while you are correct about me having my Astrophysics degree to fall back on, My current calling is something more important than studying the stars.”

“I know.” You lean into his chest and close your eyes, getting as comfortable as your nerves will allow you. “You wanna be the Avatar of Earth. So that aliens or whatever will hear your music out in space and you can be like, the musical ambassador or something. Your music will reach the furthest rim of the galaxy, because you’ll put it out there.”

“Correct.” He seems to falter in his steps a bit, and you can feel this by the light jostle he gives you to right you in his arms. “Though, again, the conversation you were trying to have earlier before you spiraled into your drunken tirade is something that also needs to be addressed, but we’ll do that when you’re safe and sound in your own home.”

“You don’t even know where I _live_.” Is the last thing you remember yourself saying before drunkenly falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got DJSS's age from the official NSR Twitter, in case anybody's wondering.


	8. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alcohol and Feelings are typically a bad combination.
> 
> Being sober with feelings is even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a special surprise this chapter!!
> 
> TW: Alcohol
> 
> Edit: 300 KUDOS?!?!? ARE YOU NUTS?!?!! Holy shit thank you so much guys.

He’s never seen you like this before.

He’s seen you drunk, on several occasions, at several afterparties or celebrations of a job well done. You’re happy then. You’re one of those drunk people who is giddy at everything, loudly laughing at something someone said and generally being the life of the party. It’s admittedly one of his favourite times he’s seen you, because they’re some of the only times he sees you where you’re not stressed.

He’s never seen you _this_ drunk before. Wallowing in some kind of self-inflicted guilt spiral and screaming into the empty streets.

You probably didn’t think you were screaming, but you were screaming.

He only caught the last third of your rant but the second he stepped out of the taxi he knew that the two of you desperately needed to sit down and talk.

But not like this. Not while you’re asleep in his arms, brought there by drinking far too much in such a short amount of time. Not while you’re coming down off of quite possibly the worst depressive high he’s seen in a person in some time.

He doesn’t like it.

And...there’s a part of him deep down that recognizes why, but he needs to get you home first. He’s never seen you do something so irresponsible before. You’re always collected, always planning what you need to do next, whether it be for the club or in your own life, or his own schedule, you’re always a rock in a hard place. The paramount force of gravity holding everything together.

But now…

Now you’re fragile, your smooth surface marred by meteor strikes. Too many, too close, too fast, and he _hates_ that.

You’re fragile, and you’re spiraling into a black hole of your own emotions, and he needs you to stop doing that effective immediately.

He _does_ know where you live, because he’s been there a week now, so it’s not that difficult to get you back home. And he _does_ have a spare key, because you gave it to him, even if you don’t remember it.

It takes no time at all for him to get to your apartment and enter your abode, cradling you in one of his arms as he closes the door quietly behind himself. In the calm stillness between your breathing he takes in the state of things and...well…

It could be worse.

There are bottles scattered across the coffee table, the sofa-bed is a mess, though that’s partially his own fault. He makes a note to clean up properly when you’re tucked away in bed.

He notes the guitar. He didn’t know you could play. He didn’t even know you _owned_ one.

He realizes that what he knows about you may not be everything, and he’s disappointed in himself for not taking more of an interest. Especially now, how things are, how they happened. What you’ve done together.

But you’re asleep, and you’re drunk, and you’re going to be hungover as hell when you wake up, and he needs to move you to your room so you can sleep this off.

He knows which one your room is, at least, because it’s not the bathroom, and the other door has a sophisticated keypad of sorts in front of it, and he can’t imagine you’d go through that much trouble trying to get into your room every day. The only logical choice is the one down the hall, and he’s pleased to see that he’s correct when he opens your bedroom door.  
  
He’s also taken aback.

Your room is far different than the rest of the house. It’s not something he expects when he walks in. 

It is like stepping back into the Cast Tech district, but with less technology.  
  
He takes in your walls, murals of stars with a black cityscape view painted over them. Meticulous in their design and painstakingly drawn. It is not quite the city-landscape he has come to enjoy in the Cast Tech district, and he does not recognize some of the more pronounced buildings, but they cover all four walls like a serene backdrop. Peppered by two windows looking out towards the dark city. And while the walls are impressive, they are not what astounds him.

What astounds him is your ceiling, which contains the most detailed hand-painting of the night sky and all of its shimmering constellations that he has ever seen.

It is like stepping into the planetarium and gazing into the telescope. Something he has done many times on a regular basis. Something this complex must have been painstaking. He notes that there is a corner of your ceiling that is not painted yet. That it is a work in progress. That you must have spent hundreds of hours painting this. And he marvels, but not too long, because you are still cradled in his arms.

Your furniture matches the wallpaper. Dark black wood comprises your dresser, bookshelf, vanity, desk, and bedframe, with deep blue sheets, a stellar blanket and matching pillows, and a blue canopy falling down from the ceiling, accented by fairy lights. As low tech as possible, to achieve the highest results.

He carefully places you in your bed, pulling up the covers and turning you to your side in case you have to throw up in the middle of the night. He’s been drunk before, he knows how it works. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he takes a step back, and takes the rest of the room in.  
  
Your bookcase is filled with trophies and pictures. Pictures of you with your family, a collage of you growing up, pictures of your first day working for him (Which he is mildly surprised about), and several musical awards, none of which bear your name. He can only assume they belong to your parents, given the surnames on them. He can also assume that they may be one of the things they left behind for you, and he feels a pang of…. _something_...in his chest when he thinks about it.

He takes in the rest of your room, the guitar stand next to your desk with _another guitar_ on it?? This one looks markedly more expensive than the one in your living room. He glances at your desk and finds letters scattered across it, some opened, some unopened, one you’re currently in the middle of writing.

That particular thing is none of his business, so he looks away.

Your dresser is covered in what he can assume are mementos, but they’re familiar to him, and it makes him feel another _something_ when he sees them.

They’re all gifts he’s given you.

The headphones he gave to you the first day you started working together are there. You showed them to him earlier when you went pilfering for remnants in Club Planetarium. They’re an older model by at least three models by now, so technically you should have replaced them a while ago, but he’s happy to know that you kept them, and that you still use them.

There’s an astronomy book he handed out to you and the other two head stagehands during one of his first ‘lectures’ to all of you. The book itself looks like it's been opened and read over and over again to the point where the spine is starting to crease. There are multiple sticky notes hanging out of it, as well as a bookmark somewhere in the middle of the book. It must be what you've used to recreate the night sky on your ceiling. He knows for a fact the maps in it are accurate.

There’s a tiny vinyl figure of himself that he remembers distinctly. Two years ago he decided to do a ‘merchandise run’ for merchandise outside that of his technologic expertise. One of Sayu’s managers suggested ‘pop figures’ as an attempt to help marketing. They were a small run, limited edition, and they sold fairly quickly, but he remembers the box of them you found while cleaning out the observatory several months later that neither of you knew what to do with it. He told you to distribute them to the crew if they wanted any and then sell the rest. He….doesn’t remember the exact outcome of that, but you kept one, so it seems.

There’s some candles and a small handheld fan left and he doesn’t particularly care about those, but there is something he notices distinctly as he exits your room.

Aside from your family, you have no pictures of yourself with anybody else.

Suddenly everything comes together in the DJ’s mind. Your scarce living space, your dedication at work, your invitation for him to stay the night as long as he needed, and your continued longing for a family gone...

“You are lonely.”  
  
He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. He doesn’t even know he’s said it until it’s out in the air, but once it’s there the weight of it sits on him like a pair of too-tight headphones.

You are lonely, and he wants that to stop.

He leaves your room, closing the door behind him, and relocates himself to the living room. He picks up the empty bottles of alcohol and moves them to the sink, throwing away anything he deems as mess as he goes. He rights the sheets and blanket on the pullout bed, and then he moves to the acoustic guitar lying on the floor. Picking it up he can see that it’s no ordinary model, and the wood it was made with is the wood of the trees that used to flourish in Natura so long ago. He’s not sure exactly where to put it, so he lies it down carefully on the bed, and then occupies the rest of the space.

He has never seen you with a friend.

When he sees you, it is at work. Diligent and meticulous as you manage all of his requests. He sees you mingle with the other staff members at the craft services table and amiably converse amongst your peers. He rarely if ever sees you outside of work, and though he originally thought it was because of your strict need for work/life separation, now he’s starting to think otherwise.

He doesn’t hear you talk about other people.

You’ve never mentioned any recurring names to him about anyone you might have been spending time with outside of work. Granted, he doesn’t particularly ask very often, if at all, but all of the other people who work for him often mention friends and family they come and go with. When they leave it is in groups and pairs with the intent to spend time with others. But from you he hears nothing. Nothing more than a “I’m heading out” or “I’m going home”. He cannot remember the last time you spoke about someone that was not someone you worked with.

He’s never heard you mention a significant other.

He’s not sure what your preference is. He doesn’t bother to ask his colleagues because, quite frankly, it’s none of his business, and he doesn’t care about the libido’s of others. He himself has a less than active one, one he has come to terms with early in his life when he began to pursue the necessities of scientific discovery. He does not _need_ others in the way that others typically need or crave physical companionship, and he’s been assuming that you were the same, since you haven’t ever mentioned anything. He’s never seen you on anyone’s arm, hasn’t seen a ring or a promise band, and had deduced that you were….something similar to his own predicament. But he does not know, and he has not asked, and he cannot remember for the life of him you saying anything to the contrary.

Most importantly though, he thinks, is that he has never seen your family.

You speak of them often. Your mother and father and the music that they made. He has done his own research and yes, your parents were prolific musicians who left to tour the world with the old Masters. He’s watched recitals and performances and paid attention when he recognized them on stage. Sometimes, if he looked hard enough, he could see some stagehands scampering around in the back after the choirs conclude, and he’s seen younger versions of you from multiple ages, blinks and flashes in the camera. This was all very long ago, when he first took you on, but in the three years you’ve been working for him he does not recall you mentioning anything about them contacting you. Or visiting you. Or any correspondence aside from, evidently, the most old fashioned kind.

He has only known one side of you. The composed, faithful, and concentrated Stage Manager that has helped him run his club during his stint as the Cast Tech Disctrict’s charter.

He thinks, just a little, that he should have taken more notice.

And then like a switch flipping, it all connects.

The reason you invited him into your home was not just to help him with his current situation, but to invite him as company. To have someone else to share the private space you’ve cherished and cultivated all these years, while alleviating another burden. Why you’ve kept all the mementos he’s given you over the years and have thrown yourself headfirst into your work and have stuck around after his fall. 

You didn’t just want company. You _cared_ about him on a deeply emotional level, and you were desperately afraid of him abandoning you, like your parents did. Like Yinu’s mom did. 

Like NSR did.

And the only reason you have not said anything is because he is, effectively, the reason you still have a job.

And _that_ hurts him more than it should.

But it shouldn't, should it? It shouldn't hurt _more_ than it should. It hurts exactly the correct and appropriate amount.

Because he cannot imagine losing you either.

And the thought that you would _ever_ somehow be _afraid_ of him sends him reeling.

And he feels an emotion swelling deep in his chest that he cannot quite place, but it is powerful. It pulls at him and catches his breath, as if his lungs were suspended, amongst the stars, silent in the void. It grips his throat and takes him by surprise, enough so that he can feel tears swelling at his eyes under his helmet. Enough that he can feel something in the back of his head thats half panic and half acknowledging the inevitable.

And he realizes quickly that this may be what real love feels like. And that he's never felt it before.

His vision is foggy now, weighted down by the haze of unwilling tears and the filter of his helmet. He cannot breathe, he cannot see, he has _never_ been in a state like this before.

He rips off his helmet and headphones with a fury and plants it down on the sofa-bed, getting up quickly and walking over to the kitchen sink.

He loves you.

He _loves_ you.

And part of him knows that he may have for a while.

And he has never loved this hard before. He has never felt his chest swell before, or a regret of not acknowledging someone else this much before. Forty one years on this planet and he has yet to feel this way about anyone. Until now.

Everyone is infinitesimally small compared to him. He has met no one whose intellect matched his aside from one other NSR artist, but that was a collegiate respect. A friendly acknowledgement that blossomed into an irreplaceable friendship.

But this is different by leagues. This is not his amiable buddy-buddy relationship with Neon J, and DJ Subatomic Supernova is drowning in the weight of his magnanimity. He has realized, like the ancient scholars, that he is not the sole center of his universe, and that there has been a secondary body orbiting him this whole time, whose presence and absence cannot and will not leave his mind.

You have been there for him for three years. You have supported him for the same amount of time, but you have also grown close. Close enough to offer him shelter after a humiliating defeat. Close enough to hold onto mementos he did not realize were so important. Close enough to drag him out of the inevitable event horizon that was his spiraling mental state. He has no options, he has no ideas, he has no plan for what to do next.

But he has you.

He has _always_ had you.

And the squeeze in his chest he feels at the thought of losing you…

Well…

Its enough to make him panic. And Dj Subatomic Supernova does not panic.

He runs the kitchen faucet and grabs your paper towels, running a few under the ice cold water and wiping his face with them.

How unsightly.

Dj Subatomic Supernova, panicking because he's in love.

But…there's reason to panic. There's reason for tears to swell and for him to feel so strongly about this. Because all those years of being close to you, he's still not close enough.

And maybe…maybe…

Maybe he's lonely too.

And then, suddenly, he’s not, because when he looks up he sees _you_ standing there, mouth agape and face flushed and probably still a little drunk if he’s timing it correctly.

And this is the first time you’ve seen him without his helmet on.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. Round, reflective, and reminiscent of space. He puts them on quickly. He needs something to act as a barrier. Something to hide the emotions in his eyes that he is now roaringly aware of.

The silence doesn’t stretch, because he doesn’t give it time to.

“How are you feeling?”

“I woke up and was thirsty.” you say, looking away immediately. “But I might still be dreaming?”

He humors you. “Why do you believe you may still be dreaming?”

You blink “Because you’re not wearing your helmet and you’re really attractive.”

“Ah, yes. Well…” He clears his throat and straightens up. “You’re not dreaming, and I’m not wearing my helmet. But more importantly, how are you feeling?”

“Sleepy and thirsty.” He watches you move blearily around the kitchen to the fridge and pull out a water pitcher. “Maybe a little drunk still.”

“You drank quite a bit.”

“I _bought_ quite a bit.”

“In any case, you should sleep the alcohol off.” He watches you pour yourself a glass of water and down approximately half of it. “And….perhaps...when you wake up...we could sit down and talk.”

You put the water pitcher back and give him a look that he can’t quite place but he thinks its ‘scrutiny’. “About what.”

He’s embarrassed to say that it takes him three seconds longer to answer than he prefers.

“About us.”

“Ah. Oh.” Your look turns pensive. “Yeah...that’s something we need to talk about?”

“It is.” He ushers you out of the kitchen towards your room, still with your glass. “And we will do it tomorrow when you are sober. Get some rest.”

You nod and start to move the rest of the way, drinking as you go. “Alright. But future reference, keep the helmet off. You look good.”

“Please sleep.”

“Okay.”

He watches you close the door behind you and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Tomorrow.

He’d talk to you tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THERE IT IS!!
> 
> I would like to thank the wonderful ppeachybees on twitter for agreeing to become my artist for the remainder of the fic, and for other chapters in it as well!! I'm currently doing an artistic collaboration with them in exchange for fic so! The rest of the story will have art in them!! Which I'm super excited about.


	9. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are one of the lucky ones, and you are not prepared for any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is uhhhhhh. A Doozy.
> 
> No I will not elaborate.

You wake up with a splitting headache and the feeling that light wants to kill you.

Specifically the light coming in from your window, which has somehow managed to catch the _single sliver of sun_ between the blinds to land on your face. In your eyes. Trying to kill you.

You raise yourself from your bed and are totally groggy from the night before. You...might have gone overboard. You still feel kind of sleepy, but you dreamt something incredible.

You dreamt that DJ Subatomic Supernova had a face, and that he was _**hot**_.

You remember little from the previous night other than you played guitar, left to walk around, and you’re pretty sure the DJ brought you home. Which makes sense because, now that you’re sober, you vividly remember handing him a spare key to your apartment. You’re not sure exactly how long you’ve been asleep but it’s dark out again so you can assume at least 12 hours. You feel gross and you _definitely_ have to take a shower, so you do that almost immediately, grabbing a pair of underwear, jeans, and a black T shirt to drag in with you. It doesn’t take you long to get done, and it’s probably best you didn’t dawdle, because you exit the bathroom to the smell of bread and sugar and can assume that DJ Subatomic Supernova has gotten food yet again.

You walk into the living room and are prepared to say something, but you stop, mesmerized by the sight before you now that you can fully comprehend it.

DJ Subatomic Supernova is sitting in your kitchen, completely helmet-less.

And yeah, he’s really hot. 

“That was not a dream.” You say as you kind of stand dumbfounded.

He smiles and _oh god your chest pulsed_. “No, it was not. I’ve taken the liberty of getting breakfast from downstairs. How are you feeling.”

“Sober.” You say, walking over. “Sober and a little too aware of things right now. Your helmet’s really off. Did you go downstairs like that?”

He looks away. “No. I...no. I did not. God forbid the general population know that I’m _human_ under my helmet.”

“Yeah, because that’d be a real shame.” You take one of the baked goods on the countertop, some kind of danish pastry by the looks of it. “Breaking news, DJ Subatomic Supernova isn’t actually a walking galaxy in a bowl with a supercomputer plugged into his chest.”

“You jest, but in all fair reality, it may very well break the city.” He grabs one of the coffee cups and swirls the cup around. “I wasn’t sure how long you were going to sleep for. I rested as well in the interim but, judging by the amount of alcohol you consumed last night I’d say that my judgement was accurate enough. I also surmised you’d be dehydrated and I got you this.” He holds out a seemingly innocuous looking juice bottle. “It’s Pedialyte. Please drink it.”

“You’re the boss.” You joke as you take the bottle from him and down three solid mouthfuls.

He takes a sip of the coffee right along with you. “Yes, well. That is something we need to talk about. There’s many things we should talk about, but I’m going to place that one at the top of my list and work my way down. First and foremost, do you like working for me?”

“I like the job.” You answer him, putting the bottle down. “I like being your operations supervisor. It’s a job that I’m good at, and I like working in the club with my coworkers. You pay me well, and even if it’s a bit of a drive it doesn’t bother me. I’ve learned a lot of new things while working there and I feel good when a show goes on without a hitch so, yeah.”

He frowns. “While I appreciate your candor, that’s not what I asked. Do you like working for _me_?”

That’s the kicker, you think. What surprises you the most is that he seems to really care about it, too. You can hear it in his voice. It’s not _desperate_ , heaven for bid DJ Subatomic Supernova be desperate for someone’s attention, but it does sound pleading, and it’s something you’ve never really heard before.

You’re not sure if you like it.

“You’re difficult.” You start, because you don’t feel the need to sugar coat anything with this man. Not at this stage. Not when he’s asked so nicely. “The things you ask for and the things you do are sometimes impossible, and running around grabbing you Dodo Ice Pops can be exhausting. You’re a massive narcissist with an ego the size of the sun, and most of the time I’m around you I feel like a bumbling idiot. Sometimes it feels like you only see value in a person when they have something to offer you. Sometimes it feels like you only _see_ someone when you need something from them, or if they can hold up to a conversation with you. It’s difficult to tell how you feel about things because you don’t ever talk to anyone about anything if its not club related. I don’t know how you feel about me, about our crew. You thank us and congratulate us for a job well done, and it’s nice, but you never get c _lose_ to us. And it’s difficult. Some of us feel unappreciated and unrecognized. The stage names don’t help.”

He ponders this for a moment. “.....Do _you_ feel unappreciated and unrecognized?”

You look down at the spread of food before you. At the Pedialyte in your hand, bought specifically to help your hangover. You think of the past few days, how he’s stayed with you, how he’s walked you home and let you sleep unbothered. How he’d worried when your phone died, and even more so when he found you drunk off your ass in the park.

You think about how he didn’t have to come back, but he did.

“No.” You tell him, locking eyes. “I don’t. If I’m being honest, I think I’m one of the lucky ones.”

“I’m relieved.” He says, leaning back a bit. “It’s difficult for me to express myself, given everything that surrounds me. I have a reputation to uphold, a part to play and a place in the ever expanding universe. I am DJ Subatomic Supernova, and my mission is to create music that expands the minds of those who listen to it. There is a pressure that comes with that. I am well aware of my own existence at any given time. How I speak, how I present myself, how I hold myself in front of others. These are things I have to do to continue to be DJ Subatomic Supernova. So...I am relieved to know that you do not still hate me after all this time. Your comfort and happiness, as my operations supervisor or otherwise, matters to me. As do the others, which I know you have been in contact with. I sent out a general message to everyone who works at the club this morning saying that they are all temporarily relieved from their positions, but they will still be receiving the rest of the months pay, as the funds have already been allotted. To consider it a paid vacation.”

“That’s good. I’m sure everyone was thrilled to hear it.” You take a bite of the danish thing. It tasks like oranges and crystallized sugar. “Why the sudden interest in my opinion?”

“I don’t believe it’s as sudden as you think.” He puts the cup down and scratches the back of his neck. A casual, candid gesture that you’re unused to seeing. You realize that, with what he said before, that maybe there’s a reason for it. “This week has been….an unwanted wrench thrown into my carefully laden plans. I have been evicted from my club, my district, and my sponsorship with NSR is null as long as I fail to reclaim it. I have had time to think. Far too much time, if I’m being honest. Time that I would normally spend gazing at the stars and questioning their never ending wisdom, or working on a new form of musical enhancement for the city’s sake. All the time that I would normally spend on furthering my career and my ambitions….I have spent thinking of you. I have spent the past several hours alone thinking about you and your life, and how it fits into mine. How you are a person who is chained down by their past, and who thrives in memories from long ago but fails to want to create new ones. You can rebuke my claims, but you know I am right.”

 _“I…..god”_ You turn away from him, kind of mortified. “That was kind of…..unnecessary honestly.”

“It is necessary.” He leans forward on the counter, determined. “I have never heard you speak of your family in anything other than past tense. Nor have I heard you talk about anyone outside of work that you’d spend time with. Friends, colleagues, romantic interests, none of it. It is concerning to me how isolated you are, and I cannot for the life of me reason why.” He moves to pace around the counter. “I have been on this earth long enough to watch this city shift into an era dominated by EDM, unfettered by the limitations of previous musical endorsements. But I have also had you by my side long enough to notice things that others would not, and they are things that we both need to come to terms with.”

Your face is starting to feel hot and you refuse to look him in the eyes. Context. Context is important here. 

“What do you want me to say.” you start, shaky. “Do you want me to say that you’re right? That I don’t do anything outside of work with anyone? That I don’t have many friends in this city? That i’m still clinging to my past? It’s all true. You already know it is. Why are we having this conversation.”

“Because you need to get over it.” You glare at him angrily and he holds up a hand. “I’m serious. I understand what it is like to be alone, the only one who understands your own struggles. Believe me, I’ve faced down my fair share, but _you_ have decided to _stay_ alone. And a person cannot live and thrive alone. I have seen your parents on stage in performance, I have seen your room and the collectibles you keep, and it is the lifestyle of someone who yearns for a future yet...is incapable of letting go of fear and uncertainty. So, instead of being alone and staying rigid in one time period, would you prefer to take a step forward….with me?”

The world stops.

_Your_ world stops.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you feel nauseous. 

“What are you saying….”

He clears his throat, and you can see that he’s _also_ blushing. Holy shit he’s _blushing_. “In all my years...I have come to find that reason and passion are deeply intertwined. I feel passion for the stars, the universe, and reason to myself that I will one day become a part of it. When I play my music, it ripples through me and the sounds I produce and display to the masses are something i’m intimately proud of. I do not put anything out on the floor that I myself would not want to listen to. But I _cannot_ reason why there is the same feeling in my chest for you that there is when I dream of the stars. You are my subordinate, and by all means I know very little about you, if anything at all. Staying here has taught me this. However….when I think of you and your life, what you have been through, and what you will do, and as intertwined as it has been with my own….I cannot think of taking my next step without you beside me. There is passion in me for you, as the stars, as the universe, as my music, and it is _unreasonably_ loud. It works. _We_ work, together, as we have for the past three years, and I do not want to lose you to fear and uncertainty.”

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

Your voice comes out in a whisper, a sudden realization brought out loud and exhaled shakily.

“Are you saying that you love me?”

“I----”

The ground shakes violently and you stumble, right into his arms. He catches you easily and you both look at each other, a myriad of emotions pouring between you as your eyes connect, and then it shakes again, and again.

“What the _fuck_.” You grip his arm for stability, completely ignoring how hard you’re blushing. “Earthquake?”

He shakes his head. “No. An Earthquake would have happened once and lasted. Aftershocks wouldn’t have been so immediate and brief. This felt different.”

“I’m going outside.” You release yourself from his grip and he follows you out your door, to the balcony of your apartment complex, and you are not expecting what you see when you get out there.

Natura Stadium is _destroyed_ , and as a part of your heart breaks from this realization, you recognize the gargantuan figure hovering over its remains and those broken parts turn to splinters.

“What on _earth_ is happening.” DJ Subatomic Supernova comes out behind you and marvels at the scene. “What is that.”

You clutch your heart as you witness the stadium you grew up in fall to bits in the distance.

“That’s not an earthquake. That’s Yinu’s mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	10. Reconstruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not the closure that you wanted, but at least you learned from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so.
> 
> The past few days have been pretty not great for me. Due to some things happening I've been feeling kind of ostracized and unwanted in the fandom, and my heart's a little hurt because of it. I'm not going to go into specifics because like, this isn't the place for it, but I'm not feeling particularly welcome here anymore and I feel like I'm on thin ice with...a lot of people. I was really excited and ready to invest in this fandom and everything but, I don't think my hearts in it anymore. Not like it was prepared to be, anyway. I used this chapter as a conduit for my own feelings and poured a lot into it so, I hope that comes across a little bit with my writing.
> 
> I’m going to keep writing this fic, because I have a good portion of it already written and planned out, but I don’t believe I’ll be writing an epilogue or an aftermath or a part 2. I just don’t have the passion in me after all’s said and done. I thought I was doing alright but, evidently I wasn't.
> 
> Sorry to disappoint anyone that may have been looking forward to an aftermath. I channeled a lot of emotion into this chapter so I hope you like it.
> 
> Next chapter will be better, and it’ll have someone I think a lot of people have been waiting for.

It hurts.

There’s a crowd around the entrance to the stadium, two tourists are talking to the police and the area past the gate is roped off. You and DJ Subatomic Supernova make your way to the front as bystanders part for you, knowing full well who he is at the very least. You approach the officer manning the front of the crime scene.

“I work here.” You tell him, straight faced, with your Club Planetarium crew member jacket slung over your shoulders because it was the only thing you had close by to grab. He raises an eyebrow at you, and then to the helmeted DJ behind you.

He steps forward. “I can assure you, officer, we do have jurisdiction here. Would you like my NSR sanctioned identification?”

The second he says NSR the officer looks uncomfortable. “No, that’s alright. I know who you are. Go on through, but try to stay out of the way of the other officers.”

“Duly noted. Come on.” The DJ pats your back and you march under the caution tape, down the runway towards the stadium that now lies in pieces before you.

And it _hurts_.

To see something you had a part in, that you were so proud of, broken, tears at you inside.

“I never thought anything like this would happen.” You tell him as you make your way to where the stadium front would have been. “I had no idea she was capable of something like that.”

“I was also unaware.” He offers. “My dealings with Yinu have often been with herself, for the Lights Up Auditions, not her mother. Though I have heard about her frequently. Little did I know she could do all of this.” he gestures to everything around him.

You finally approach the front of the stadium, and it looks _rough_. Far rougher than anything Club Planetarium had gone through. “Bunk Bed Junction may have hijacked the concert, but I know what we saw. Bunk Bed Junction isn’t capable of growing several stories and breaking the earth in pieces like this.”

“No, they’re not.”

There’s officers around the outside, and the actual entrance is roped off as well. Nobody bothers to stop you as you move under the tape and into the stadium proper. It hasn’t even been a half hour between what you witnessed at your apartment building and the current state of things.

The hallway to the stage is long, riddled with debris, and the rows of chairs of the theatre have either been upturned or crushed by bits of the ceiling. Red vines of some kind litter what is left of the walls and spill out into the aisles. The border is shattered, rosetted rivulets scattered across the stage, and in the middle of the carnage sits Yinu….and her mother.

Bunk Bed Junction are long gone, so it seems.

Yinu looks up when she sees there’s someone approaching. Evidently you two are the first ones inside the stadium.

She shakes her mothers arm. “Mama. Its DJ Supernova.”

She looks up, golden eyes stained red on the edges with grief, her voice carries with it a melancholy that you cannot find yourself to empathize with. “Ah. DJ Subatomic Supernova. What a surprise. I did not expect to see you today.”

“We watched you destroy the theatre from my balcony.” You say, doing your best to keep any ire out of your voice.

It doesn’t work, as her eyes narrow at you. “And who is this?”

Your anger ticks up a notch. You’ve changed a bit, sure but you didn’t expect her to be so _callous_.

“My second in command.” The DJ says as he steps forward, celestial orb glinting off the moonlight that cascades down from the opened ceiling. “The stagehand I stole from your establishment a while back.”

“Nice to see you again.” You say it but you don’t mean it. 

She squares her shoulders. “I suppose you are here to rub in my face how I allowed an imbecilic duo to ruin Yinu’s performance.” 

“I’m more concerned about how you trashed the stadium to be honest.” You say as you step forward. “Because I’m pretty sure that Bunk Bed Junction isn’t responsible for all of this on their own.” You sweep your arm, gesturing to the wreckage around you. “I couldn’t care less about Yinu’s performance. No offense, kid.”

Yinu seems to shy away for a second, before taking a step forward. “I-”

“You have no right to shame me for this.” Her mother moves forward, to counter you. “I was doing what was in the best interest of my child. Her life and her _career_ was on the line. You would do the same if you could.”

“I wouldn’t grow fifty feet tall and start tossing rocks at people.” You stand your ground. “Protecting your child, I get. I have parents. They did the same for me, as long as they could, but this? All of this? You took it too far and it was needless, and you lost. You weren’t thinking of anyone but yourself when you did this. Did you stop to ask Yinu how she felt about your rampage?”

“Bunk Bed Junction was a menace! A pack of bullies who came to ruin Yinu’s night, and her performance.”

“Noooooooooo!” Yinu stomps her feet on the stage and it draws everyone’s attention. “Mamaaaaa. You did this! You broke the stage when you got big! Bunk Bed Junction attacked me, but my piano broke because you dropped it!”

She moves down to her level, and runs one hand over Yinu’s head. “Yinu, my love, I was doing what was best for you. I was protecting you from those bullies. I kept you safe because I love you, and you are unharmed because of it.”

“No! Ahhhh!” She shoves her mom away and runs off stage.

She moves to go after her child, but DJ Subatomic Supernova clears his throat.  
  
“I will handle it.” he looks between the two of you, “I believe you need to talk.”

You watch as he moves behind the curtain to go after Yinu, and you can’t hold yourself in anymore.

“This is what you do, you know.” You tell her. “Your overbearing nature destroyed all of this. It destroyed Yinu’s piano, it destroyed the concert hall, and it destroyed the livelihoods of tons of people who worked here before.”

She scoffs at you. “You do not know what it is like to have a child, to continue a legacy. To leave behind something that others will remember.”

“My parents played here before your child did.” You correct her. “I knew this stadium like the back of my hand. It was my daycare, my preschool, my afterschool, and my first job. I put everything I had into this place, and when you came along to kick me out? With no warning or reason other than ‘You’re not wanted anymore?’. _That_ was destroying a legacy. You have no idea how it felt to hear that the one place that i’d invested my time and my life and my emotions in suddenly decided that I was a problem and that I had to go. I taught you e _verything I knew_ when you asked me to. I taught you how to run the stage, the equipment, the lights and sound and what went where, and you tossed me aside when you were satisfied I was of no use to you anymore. I am a child born and raised in this stadium, in this district and this city, and the Masters who performed before Yinu were my family, and you have the _nerve_ to say that I know nothing of legacy. You should be _ashamed_.”

She doesn’t reply for a few moments, and you can see the anger return in her, eyes glazing over, hair spiking at the edges.

And then she breathes, and deflates. 

“Yinu’s father taught her how to play the piano.” She starts, looking over at the broken instrument abandoned center stage. “When she was younger, he became very sick. Soon he was unable to play, unable to walk, and eventually...unable to breathe. Yinu remembers him through her music, because it is the music that he taught her. I wanted to protect her so she could continue to spread the gift that he gave her to the world.”

“You went too far.” You tell her. “It stopped being about his memory and started being about only Yinu. There are no statues of him around Natura. Only the left behind remnants of the Masters who aren’t here anymore. Every fountain has a gold plated Yinu on the top of it, and her commercial plays nonstop over the televisions. And this stage, the stadium? It changed too. Look at it.” You gesture to the debris, but also the design. “When I worked here, I’d never seen some of this stuff before. Everything changed, and it all revolves around her now. I understand that she’s a Charter of a district, and I understand that you’re her mom and ultimately you make the final decisions on everything, but this district _belonged_ to people before, and you wiped _their_ memories away. You wiped my memories away along with them.”  
  
“I never meant for this to happen…” She says, wiping a tear from her face. “I love Yinu. I love her music. I’m her mother, and I will always do what is best for my child. When Bunk Bed Junction came and started attacking her, I could only see red. I had to protect her, at any cost. I did not want to lose her like I lost him.”

You look down at one of the vines that’s invaded the aisles and you brush it aside with your foot. “Yeah well...this is the price you paid. Was it worth it?”

She looks back in the direction that Yinu ran off, and then to the piano, and then back to you. “No….it was not.”

* * *

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh with your mother.”

DJ Subatomic Supernova is not a family man. He’s not particularly great with children and he doesn’t understand a damn thing about them.

She’s sitting on one of the fallen railings, arms crossed in defiance. “No. Mama needs to know that she hurt me for real this time.”

He sits down beside her. “You don’t think Bunk Bed Junction was responsible for any of this?”

She huffs. “Bunk Bed Junction came and ruined my recital, but I was showing them! Mama held me up as I was playing, but I was doing fine! She didn’t have to get so big, and she didn’t have to break the stadium. She broke my piano and she didn’t even say sorry. I hate both of them!”

“Yes well, it is true that your mother may have overreacted. But don’t you think you are _also_ overreacting? You don’t think you’re being a little childish?”

“I am a child! What’s your excuse!” She turns to him. “You were the _first_ person to lose your district to Bunk Bed Junction.”

He grimaces, thank god for the helmet. “Yes, everyone's so keen on reminding me. I was not prepared, but you were. You knew they were coming, and you still lost. Mother or no mother, you must accept that responsibility.”

“Ngaaah! I don’t like this.” She kicks the fallen piece of debris. “When I played piano with my Papa I had so much fun. I was really good at it, and I wanted to play with him forever. Then he got sick, and Mama changed. She got real sad all the time and told me that I had to keep playing. I play piano because it’s fun, and because Papa taught me to, but I’m not having fun anymore and I don’t like this anymore. I am the Golden Maestro of Vinyl City, but I want to be Yinu!”

“And here I thought you took _pride_ in your title as the Golden Maestro.” He leans against one of the railings. “If I remember correctly, it’s one you’d flaunt regularly during the Lights Up Auditions.”

“It makes me feel important.” She admits. “I like being the Golden Maestro, because it sounds important, but I didn’t make it up. Mama did.”

“I see….” He ponders for a second, and then something pops into his brain. “Did your father also perform here, a long time ago?”

She nods and wipes her face with her sleeve, sniffling. “Papa played piano here with a lot of other people who also played. Before he got sick he was super important, and he had a lot of friends. He taught me how to play here sometimes, before Mama took over.”

He nods. “Fascinating, fascinating. And, do you know who I brought with me?”

She watches him point out towards the stage, and she nods, but it’s uncertain. “Kinda. They were always behind the curtain, and then Mama asked them to teach her how to run things, and then Mama fired them I think.”

“Yes, she did. And now they work for me, but you know something, they _also_ had family that played here. A mother and a father, one of whom also played the strings. I’m sure that they and your father were good friends, and I’m sure that your father wouldn’t want you to give up playing just because things are going badly right now.” He turns towards the stage. “When I was evicted from Club Planetarium, I had very few to turn to, and I did not know what to do next, but I do not regret the path I am on now. I do not regret having that experience, and what has come of it. For better or for worse, things ended up being better, and I’m sure that, with time, they will be better for you too.”

She gets up from her position on the fallen railing and sniffles again, looking up at him. “Do you really think so?”

He holds out a hand to her. “I do. Now, come along. Your mother is worried sick and I do _not_ fancy being on the tail end of that woman’s rage.”

“She gets mad _real_ bad, huh.” Yinu takes his hand and he leads her out from behind the curtain. Once the moonlight hits him, he can see that your positions and general demeanor haven’t gotten any better. Yinu releases his hand and runs to her mother once she’s in eyesight.

She reaches down for her child, but pauses “Yinu, my dear, how are you feeling?”

Yinu takes a deep breath to steel herself. “I feel bad. My piano is broken and my night went bad, and I lost my district. And I’m mad at you because you did some of this, and you haven’t said sorry yet.”

DJ rounds the two of them to stand over by you. You cannot see his face, obscured by his helmet, so he foregoes social cues and places a hand on your shoulder. You look down and ball your fists.

“I am...sorry.” Yinu’s mother starts, stroking Yinu’s hair as she kneels down to her level. “I am sorry that I got angry, and I am sorry that I broke the stage. I know now that what I did was not good for you, and I promise to make it right and never do it again. Can you forgive me?”

She nods and grabs her mothers hand. “I want to play piano for fun again. I wanna play like Papa taught me. And I wanna have piano parties with Mister Fragglebee again.”

“We can do that, as many times as you like.” Yinu’s mother turns to you “I will be rebuilding the stadium, Bunk Bed Junction or no Bunk Bed Junction. I will...also be looking for new staff. I understand now that trying to do everything by myself, managing Yinu _and_ the district, will not be the best plan from now on. When I get everything back up to operations, would you be interested in coming back?”

You take in a breath and hold it. She’s….offering you your job back?

You take a look around the stadium and feel….nothing. You feel nothing for this stadium anymore, what it has become, what it used to mean to you. You see none of your childhood in the stands, and the feelings you held for it as a whole….are not swelling like you thought they would.

It is not quite moving on, you think, as your senses are keenly aware of the lack of feeling in your chest at the thought. 

It is not moving on.

You feel DJ Subatomic Supernova’s hand on your shoulder, and you feel it squeeze, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s a reflex or not.

And you place your hand over his.

And you let go.

“I’ll think about it.” You tell her with all the honesty you can muster. “But I’m pretty sure I’m going to decline.”

He removes his hand from your shoulder. “We have bothered you long enough. The night is young and we are on a mission. I apologize if our presence has caused you any unease.”

“It is fine.” Yinu’s mother picks up her child and bounces her on her hip. “You are welcome here any time, when all this is over.”

“Yes, when it’s all over. Come.” He gestures to you and begins to walk away, and you follow him. When you’re far away enough from the rubble and wreckage, out past the entrance and through the caution taped gate, he turns to you. “Well? Did you get what you wanted?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t feel any better...but I also don’t feel worse.”

“Neutrality is the starting point to improvement.” He says as his phone begins to buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out and, oh, excellent timing. “As long as you’re not feeling _horrible_ we do have one more stop to make.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh? And where exactly are we going.”

He smiles, but you can’t see it, as he answers his phone. 

“We’re going to talk to Neon J.”


	11. Reinforcing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barraca mansion is ridiculously large and Neon J is exactly the kind of person you thought he would be.
> 
> You have so many questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the recent Q&A with Wan Hazmer it was mentioned that Neon J is to Tatiana as Soundwave is to Megatron.
> 
> I am a Transformers fan who has been in the deep of it for 20 years.
> 
> If ya’ll think I’m not gonna grasp onto that little tidbit of information with both of my hands then you don’t know me very well.

Barraca Mansion is massive, and this is an understatement.

You’ve accompanied DJ Subatomic Supernova to a number of press releases and public events, so you know what it’s like to deal with hordes of fans and the general limelight.

This is a whole other world, and you are _not_ at all prepared when you see the hundreds of people at the gate to their home. Paparazzi, fangirls and fanboys, one particular news station that you know has been covering the BBJ takeover since the beginning. It’s at a level that you’ve never seen before in your life.

“This is ridiculous.” you say as the Dj leads you away, to the side where fewer people are gathered. “I knew they were popular but I didn’t really care too much personally. Seeing it in person is mind blowing.”

“Yes, well, we’re going in through a side entrance. I’d prefer to avoid the press and get out with my life and clothing intact.” He takes out a keycard of some kind and approaches a very old-fashioned naval helm, swiping it in front of it and stepping back as a tram car of some kind appears. “Quickly now, before anyone tries to jump in with us.”

The two of you step on and the doors close, car relatively quiet as there’s no speakers to play ambience music inside.

“So, I’m guessing you come here a lot when you’re not working?” You ask him.

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t call it _a lot_. Neon J and I are...old friends, we work well together and we’re both in charge of this city’s power grid maintenance. He’s typically my surrogate for Tatiana when I need to speak to her but can’t find myself able to go all the way to NSR tower. He is, in all manner of the word, the eyes and ears of NSR. Which I find particularly hilarious because he has neither. He’s been with the company the longest out of all of us, minus Tatiana herself, of course.”

“How does he see if he doesn’t have eyes.” You ask him.

“Sonar.” He points to his own head. “Unlike me, Neon J is a cyborg. He tracks people with the echolocation emitted from his screen, and uses thermal imaging along with an embedded camera in order to get a full read on a person, but his eyesight is similar to being colourblind. Even with the camera, he can’t fully comprehend what something looks like one hundred percent unless he has his hands on it. But if you’ve been in his presence before, he will no doubt remember you.”

You think about that for a moment. “Is that why 1010 is so brightly colour coded? So he can tell them apart?”  
  
“Possibly. Though that may just be a defining factor for the fanbase. I typically do not ask about things like that unless he is willing to give the information freely.”

“How often does he offer information?”  
  
“Relatively speaking?” he turns to you. “I am an introvert, compared to him.”

“Wow.” You stop and think for another moment. “So, where’s his brain?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer you as the tram comes to a stop in front of a security tollbooth, manned by another robot that looks like an earlier version of 1010 if they weren’t so distinct.

“Halt.” The droid says. “Procure credentials or face the consequences.”

“J, it’s me. You called me twenty minutes ago.” DJ Subatomic hands the droid the card “I understand the need for heightened security given everything that’s been going on, but the fact that I used my card to get on this vehicle in the first place should have been a telling sign I was coming.”

The droid scans the card….and waits a few seconds. Suddenly it’s eyes blink, and a different voice comes from it’s vocoder.

“DJ Subatomic Supernova!” The voice of Neon J rings out, you know because you heard it from the phone call. “Yes! I have been expecting you. I apologize for my poor conduct. I will meet you at the side door in a moment. In the meantime, my troops will help you inside.”

“Much appreciated.” The DJ takes back his card and pockets it as the tram moves through the checkpoint and stops at what seems to be a subway station. Except, you’re above ground, right? You didn’t feel yourself go below ground.

The doors open and you’re met with 1010. 

All five of them.

“DJ Supernova!” The white one steps forward “The captain told us you were coming. A lot’s been happening I hear~ Why don’t you come inside and kick your feet up and we can talk about it, six on one~.”  
  
“Hello White.” The DJ steps forward and nods at him. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, earth to DJ Dubstep. We have _names_.” The green one steps forward. “You _know_ our names.”

The DJ scoffs. “Your names are for autograph signings and merchandise sales, but I have yet to hear Neon J call you by your names in any visit I have made. As far as I’m aware they are stage names only.”

“He calls me by my name.” The yellow one raises his hand. “But he only does it when he’s mad at me.”

“So that’s like, every day?” The blue one quips and smirks at him from his position staring at his phone, and the yellow one hits him in the arm.

You are...overwhelmed? Is that what you’re feeling right now?

“Shenanigans aside….” Your boss steps aside, showcasing you, previously hidden behind him. “We have business with your father.”

They gawk at you.

For a solid five seconds.

“He brought a _GUEST_.” The yellow one shouts and immediately turns and sprints up the subway-like staircase. “ ** _DAAAAAAAAAAAD!_** ”

 _“Wait I wanna tell him!”_ The green one runs up after him and you’re left with…

Well…

“Hey there, newcomer~” The white one slides up next to you, putting a hand on the wall next to your head. “Never seen _you_ before. Actually, we’ve never seen _anyone_ come with the DJ before. It’s quite a rare occasion~ So, what can our _sexy home_ offer you today~?”

He’s immediately shoved aside by the red one, who is less than pleased at his brother's behaviour.

“Ignore Rin. He’s an idiot who thinks he’s in charge and will hit on anything with a pulse.” He brings a hand to his chest. “I’m Zimelu, this is Purl-Hew, and the two that ran up the steps are Haym and Eloni, yellow and green respectively.”

The blue one, Purl Hew, waves as Rin rights himself after being shoved over. “You only hate me 'cause you ain't me. You should be showing them better hospitality. They’re probably a fan~”

“They’re not, I can assure you.” DJ Supernova takes a step forward and Purl Hew follows him. His voice is, notably, irate. “I quite prefer your non-public faces, if i’m being up front. As does my Stage Manager here, so don’t pull the boy band spiel today. We’re here on business.”

You follow quickly after him and the two straggling robots take up the rear.

“Stage Manager?” Zimelu asks, catching up to you easily with his very long legs. “Oh, so you’re the one who runs the club when he’s away?”

“Something like that.” You tell him as the five of you ascend the steps, into a hallway. “Though lately my job parameters have expanded quite a bit. I’ve also had to become an engineer, sound director, interior designer, lights and LED technician, emotional therapist, scavenger, scheduling supervisor. I’ve been doing a lot.” You list off the subsequent jobs you’ve been doing during...everything...on your fingers.

“That’s a lot of jobs.” Purl Hew takes note as he looks up from his phone. “How long have you been working for him?”  
  
“Three years. Sometimes it feels like longer.” You tell them. “This week has actually felt like one whole year of hyper condensed events thrown together.”

“Because of Bunk Bed Junction, yeah?” Rin takes his place on the other side of you. “We’ve been keeping up with everything. Kind of hard not to when Captain J is so crazy about security. We’re not allowed to leave the mansion until everything blows over.”  
  
The DJ turns back to you. “I thought you were currently on a tour around the city?”  
  
“That’s Bravo squadron.” Zimelu clarifies. “Alpha squadron has been barred from doing public events unless they’re direct concerts or signings since we don’t know when or where they’ll strike. We’re basically on house arrest.”

“A shame really. That Mayday’s quite a cutie.” Rin steps forward and moves to take point. “In any case, we’re well prepared for them even if they _do_ show up here. Not only does the mansion have a state of the art security system, but we’re not helpless either. If they try to crash the party we’re throwing, we’ll show them more than just the door.”

“Your personal defense is the least of my concerns.” DJ Supernova says as you step into what seems to be a pretty fancy looking foyer. “J said that he would meet us at the side gate and he has yet to show up. It’s not like him to be late.”

“TROOPS! Atten _tion_!”

The three robots with you suddenly stand at attention, ramrod straight, as Neon J and the other two who ran off approach your group.

“See! He brought someone this time.” Haym says, shaking his fathers(?) shoulder before hiding behind it. “I’ve never seen him bring anyone before.”

“You are overreacting. Green, Yellow, join your brothers.” Neon J says. The two robots join their brothers at attention as he approaches the two of you. “Normally I’d say it’s great to see you, but circumstances make this a less-than-pleasing visit. You, however, I have not met.” He turns to you and salutes. “I am Neon J. Head of the Department of Defense for Vinyl City, Third In Command of NSR, and Manager of 1010.”

“Nice to meet you.” You’re not sure what the proper etiquette is here. Do you...salute? Do you bow? You don’t know. “Thanks for letting us come talk to you about everything.”

“Of course! A diligent commander is always aware of what is happening behind enemy lines. And having you two here is a one way ticket to bolstering my defense and coming up with a game plan. Troops! At ease. I will be talking to DJ Subatomic Supernova and his stage manager. Go...practice your dance moves. Or something. Be productive. Just stay in the manor, and so help me _god_ if I find out one of you has snuck out again you will be sent to the back of the choreo line for your next three concerts.”

Four out of the five of them groan at that, while Rin just shrugs. He’s their main singer and front-man so he probably doesn’t have to worry about it.

“Fine, but we’re coming back and we’re totally talking to the DJ’s plus one.” Eloni says as the five of them leave. “You can’t just _bring someone_ and not expect us to ask like, a billion questions.”

“You may ask them questions when we are done... _preparing for war_.” Neon J points. “Now _out_. All of you. And no eavesdropping. I will find out.”

“C’mon Eloni.” Haym pulls him away. “Maybe we can watch Zimelu try to bake again.”

The red robot glares at him and you hear a faint ‘None of you are allowed in the kitchen anymore’ as they leave the room.

Neon J sighs, though part of you senses it might be theatrical. “The joys of being in charge. Alright. We need to talk shop. Right this way, if you please.”

He leads the two of you up the foyer steps and down another hallway, and you marvel at the fact that yeah, this is what a mansion is like, and it's pretty ridiculously big. You could actually get lost in here.

You’re quiet as you walk, marvelling at the sheer absurdity of being in a place like this. The walls are lined with various paintings and pictures of 1010 in different parts of the world. A television with their city tour is playing somewhere down the hall and sure enough you walk into a room that looks like a miniaturized robotics factory, complete with 1010 body parts strewn about in various stages of disrepair. The door closes behind you as you walk in and DJ Supernova crosses his arms and taps his foot.

“You were late.”

“I was preoccupied.” Neon J says as his demeanor seems to….also shift? His voice lowers in volume, and his consonants lose their edge, as if he no longer has to play the part of The Commander. He gestures behind him to a wall of screens, each one playing a video feed of a different part of Vinyl City. Several of the screens are black. A few have static. “I have been closely monitoring the Bunk Bed Junction situation, as per Tatiana’s request. Half of the drones that I have placed around the city have been destroyed. My smaller monitoring drones have not been detected by the two, but from what I have gleaned, they’re...not very observant. At least, the girl isn’t. The NSR defense bots that you and I constructed have proven all but useless compared to their coordinated assault.”

“Yes, they were rather unorthodox and unexpected.” Your boss walks forward and leans on the console in front of the screens. “And these are all the current video feeds of your district and Dream Fever district, correct?”

“My district, Dream Fever District, and several from the other districts, including yours.” He clicks a few keys on the console and three of the screens change to show off the Cast Tech district and…

Hoo boy that does not look good.

“That’s...a lot of graffiti.” You say as you walk forward. There’s far more graffiti around the district than there was when you first left it. DJ Subatomic Supernova’s figure in the center of the main pathway has been all but completely defaced. There’s also a video of the area by The Grand Qwaza, which has also been overrun by hastily done street vandalism. “Did their fans do this? Do they really have that much support?”

“Seems like it.” The DJ leans back. “Never would I have guessed that the people of Vinyl City would so quickly devolve into basic violent desire. These two may have started something a bit bigger than they initially planned, and everyone in Vinyl City is going to get caught up in it, whether they want to or not.”

“They are gaining fans by the thousands every day.” Neon J says as all of the screens switch over to the satellite feed, where Bunk Bed Junction now sits at the number 3 spot. “They are moving fast. Though their numbers are small, they have defeated all three NSR artists in their way, though my information tells me that once the fight is over, they no longer care for the district or the aftermath. If they were truly trying to approach a ‘revolution’ as they suggest, they would be doing more than simply fixing a few streetlights and vending machines. It is as if they are not thinking of how their actions are affecting the people who live in the districts they have claimed.”

“They’re not, because that’s not what they want.” You cross your arms and look at the ground, thinking. “I don’t think it’s just the two of them either. I ran into this guy...before Yinu’s recital was hijacked. He gave off this really weird and bad vibe to me. I kind of got into it with him a bit. He was buying tickets to see Yinu in concert, but he was a Bunk Bed Junction enthusiast. He also seemed like the kind of guy who hated change.”

Neon J steps forward at this. “What did he look like?”  
  
“Red hair, glasses, long scarf, probably in his fifties.” you tell him. “He said that he watched the Masters perform way back in the day, and that he was a fan of rock music.”

He nods. “I will send this information to Tatiana as a precaution. He may be an anomaly and a random passerby, but as the head of defense, I cannot let any possibility slide. I have been through far too much to dismiss new information, for the possibility of it being relevant may surprise us.”

“Leftover habits from the war, I’m sure.” DJ interjects. “They are coming for you next, J. Sayu was all but destroyed by them, Yinu’s piano is in pieces, and they shattered and stole one of my performance helmets. They seem to have a keen affinity for taking souvenirs, or doing irreparable damage to our artists key means of defense and offense. There’s a high likelihood that they may be after your factory next.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Factory? War? You mean like, the Border Wars?”

“Yes, there’s a lot to unpack in that but now is not the time.” DJ turns towards the cyborg manager. “J, you have to take this seriously. They’ve already done enough damage to shift the mindset of Vinyl City into the corner of a revolt, if not an uprising. Far be me from caring about what happens in other parts of the city, but if we let this go on, none of us will be able to continue our careers. Vinyl City will fall and chaos will run amok. And I, for one, am not done exploring the universe yet, and I would like to have a base of operations that is not on physical or metaphorical fire.”

Neon J presses a few keys and all of the video monitors revert back over to their original places around the city. “I am taking every precaution that the boys and I will be safe and secure. As far as the general public is concerned, my troops are taking a tour of the city and are moving onto their next stop later tonight. I have no doubt that we will prevail in this endeavor. Not to mention, I have an army at my disposal! I would like to see Bunk Bed Junction destroy all of my robots, or my factory.”

“They might attack your boys on the run.” You offer. “Bravo squadron? If they know they’re moving around the city, they might target them next.”  
  
“It would also be bad publicity.” DJ Supernova adds. “If the general public catches wind of 1010 being attacked and left out to dry, your fans could turn against you.”  
  
“And the last thing we need is _another_ revolt on top of one currently happening. The two of you bring up an excellent point. DJ Subatomic Supernova.” He turns to the DJ. “I require your assistance bolstering defense and coming up with a plan of attack. Being as though your stage manager is a civilian, I am going to request that they leave the room.”

Your boss nods and turns to you. “We shouldn’t be very long, maybe a half hour to forty five minutes. In the meantime you can go learn about the boys in the mansion and enjoy ‘living the high life’ so to speak. It’ll be a pleasant break from all the running around you’ve been doing.”

You turn towards the door, and then back to him. “You want me to babysit the robots, don’t you.”

He shrugs. “Somebody has to, and it’s not going to be me.”

“I hate you and you’re an asshole.” You say as you walk off. “I’ll do it, but you owe me one.”

DJ Subatomic Supernova watches you leave and lets out a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding. He turns to Neon J and finds that his friend has been staring at him throughout your entire exchange.  
  
“What?”

“Nothing.” The cyborg turns around. “They’re fine, I guess. How old are they? I like that they’re not afraid of telling you that you're a jerk. Have they told you you're a narcissist as well yet?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He brings a hand up to take off his helmet, rubbing his temples. “I don’t need _you_ rubbing in anything else today. I’ve already had to hear it from _Eve_.”

“You spoke to Eve?”  
  
“She was with Tatiana at NSR tower.” he clarifies, pulling up a chair and placing his helmet on the table. 

Neon J reaches under the table and opens a cabinet, pulling out a bottle of something along with two glasses, and a straw. “You went to NSR tower?”

“To try to convince Tatiana to continue to fund my projects, yes.” He takes the glass after it’s been poured and downs a sip, grimacing. “She had this absurdly large horn of some kind with her. I didn’t bother asking.”

“She did? Ah. I’m glad she’s decided to make up with him. It is probably just a distraction for the current situation, but it needed to be resolved eventually.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Good.” he pours his own drink and takes a sip through the straw in one of the open ports on his monitor. “So...your stage manager. You’ve never brought anybody to the manor before. I don’t remember ever seeing you walking around with anybody either, but you’ve been walking around with them a lot. Particularly in the Natura district.”

DJ Supernova huffs, unsurprised. Neon J keeps tabs on everything that goes on in the city, and manages hundreds of different live-feeds at any given moment when he can bear to. “You only noticed because I’m out of place there.”

“You’ve been hanging around the Natura District for a week.”  
  
“They live there.”  
  
If Neon J could spit out his drink, he probably would. “You’ve already moved in together?!”

The DJ puts down his own glass. “No. Nothing like that. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“But you _are_ spending a lot of time together.”

“It's complicated.”

“I don’t think it is.”

“What would you know.” He says, turning away from him. “I’ve been kicked out of my club _and_ my district, and I’ve been told I’ll be receiving _zero_ financial aid while I am displaced.”

“They offered you a place to stay, and you said yes.”  
  
“I’m not going to turn down an act of goodwill.” He takes another sip. “If you were in my position, you would have done the same.”

“You could have come to me.”

There’s a pause in the air after that, and it’s an uncomfortable one. More uncomfortable than the space-faring DJ would have liked.

“I didn’t want to impose.” He says, in a voice he _definitely_ does not like. “You’re already so busy managing the boys’ schedules and all of this. I thought it would be easier if I handled it on my own end.”

“If I may make a suggestion, my friend.” Neon J puts down his glass and DJ Subatomic Supernova looks up at him, meeting his beeping radar with reluctance. “Do not make the same mistake twice.”

He frowns, and steels himself. “I don’t plan on it.”

“Of course you don’t _plan_ on it. We never _plan_ for these kinds of things.” The war veteran stands up. “You can stay here while you are indisposed. I have more than enough space for both you _and_ your manager. Nebula, did you call them? I have a recording studio, so you can continue your work, and while you are here we can bolster Vinyl City’s defense. You will have full access to both my lab and my workshop if you need it. It would also be nice to catch up, emergency notwithstanding.”

He thinks about it for a moment, because it is a _very_ tempting offer. One that would solve all of his problems instantly. Neon J has the resources to help him at least get back to work in this interim, but he would have to run it by you. And he's fairly certain that this whole situation may be overwhelming you. He cannot give him an answer without you there. “Nebula is their stage name. Though I’m sure you already know their off-stage name.”

“You are correct, even if you did not give me an answer. My offer stands, regardless of how this turns out. Now...we have a war to fight, and a battle to win.” Neon J walks over to one of his workbenches and shoves everything aside, onto the floor, and turns to him 

“Tell me everything you can about Bunk Bed Junction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Hinting at something? Impossible.
> 
> You can see it if you squint


	12. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You sigh, you breathe, you take a break, you break a bit
> 
> the boys almost break an air hockey table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FILLER CHAPTER
> 
> This is officially the longest chapter in the fic and I am FURIOUS

You exit the room and sigh.

You feel powerless right now, for more than one reason.

You have engineering experience, but nothing on the scale that the two NSR artists have. Which means that your actual involvement with helping bolster the city’s defenses, and by proxy Neon J’s personal investments, is little to none. Your expertise lies in….stagehand engineering. Ropes and cables, sound systems, set construction, those kinds of things.

It doesn’t make you feel inadequate. They both have a decade’s worth experience and practical application on you. If anybody is going to help fortify 1010 against Bunk Bed Junction’s assault, it’s those two. You wish you could do more, but you’re still trying to come to terms with the past 24 hours.

Natura falling, Yinu’s mother, having to come here so soon afterwards.

And DJ Subatomic Supernova….

Your conversation didn’t end. You didn’t give him an answer, and he wasn’t able to clarify anything. He asked you if you would take the next step with him, whatever that step may be.

This counts as a next step, you think, but you’re hopelessly unprepared for it right now.

“What’s eatin’ ya?”

You look up to see the yellow bot from 1010, Haym, bent over staring at you. None of his other brothers are around, so it seems.

“Bunk Bed Junction.” You lie, because robot or not, you never tell a teenage(?) boy about emotional trouble. “Everything that’s happening is so far-fetched and I feel like I’ve been thrown into the middle of it against my will.”

He shrugs. “Eh. It happens. Wanna see the mansion?”  
  
You blink, completely taken aback by his nonchalant dismissal. “I-wh….sure?”

“Great! Follow me.” He starts walking off and you have to half-jog to catch up with him. “My brothers are really interested in meeting you. We’ve never had the DJ bring anybody into the mansion before, and he doesn’t ever talk about his personal life outside like...work. He used to be super into coming over and chilling with us in his downtime and working on stuff for the city but it’s been a month since we’ve seen him and he hasn’t said a thing to Dad about it.”  
  
You nod, still miffed “Cool...cool. Hey, you know that was kinda rude, right? You dismissing me like that?”

He turns back to you. “Was it? You looked like whatever you were thinking about was hurting you, so I thought changing the subject would help take your mind off of it. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“The way you did it was kind of rude, yeah. Maybe in the future don’t be so abrupt? My brain can’t just….switch thought processes like that. Especially if I don’t know why I’m being dismissed.” You tell him.

He nods and continues walking. “Right. I will keep that in mind for the future and implement it when necessary. Dad is always drilling into us about making fans happy by looking for social cues, but when it comes to non-fans it’s a little harder because we’re not like, outwardly trying to please them? It’s like….hmm…” he puts a hand to his chin. “With fans, there’s a public thing where they already love us, so when we say stuff it’s mostly just to make them happy and kinda placate them? And we love them! They're all great and we love seeing them and meeting them and spending time with them. But with people who aren’t fans who don’t know us outside the 1010 stuff, it’s harder because we can’t treat them like fans, we have to treat them like different people. And _none_ of us know who you are, so, we’re probably going to mess up a lot.”

You take all of that in for a second. Sure it makes sense, it makes a lot of sense. 1010 in public seem to be completely different from the 5 boys you met at the monorail exit, so it would only make sense for them to have different...operating procedures?  
  
You’re already here, might as well get into the thick of it.

“So, you’re built for performance, there’s multiple of you, you retain your own personalities, but you’re not used to interacting with people outside of your public image?” You ask him. “At that point you’re basically a full person.”

“Riiiiiight?!” He sighs “Like, we’re not totally helpless, but we can’t just walk out the door because it’s like, dangerous or something. We’ve all got our own brains and things we like and things we dislike and...this is weird. Is talking about this weird? I feel like it’s weird.”

You shrug “Is it weird for you to talk about?”

“Kind of? Oh hey.” He quickly jogs forward to reach his other brothers, seemingly chilling in the lounge. You’re pretty sure they were just waiting for you, though. “Hey you guyssss~. The mystery stage manager has been **_acquired~_**.”

The four boys look up from their respective places sprawled around the foyer. Rin’s taken up the full length of the couch, draping his legs over Purl Hew who is casually sitting on the furthest end of it. Eloni is lying on the floor star-style and Zimelu is sitting on the ottoman opposite the couch, gently kicking Eloni with his foot. They all jump up from their places at your mention, minus Purl Hew, who cannot stop looking at his phone.

“Hey, baby~ Welcome back! We missed you so much.” Rin takes a step forward and is immediately blocked, once again, by Zimelu stepping in his way.

“I see you were evicted.” He says, much to Rins dismay. “Don’t be offended, it happens to us too. The two of them are on a level we can’t hope to understand.”

Haym moves behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “I offered a tour of the mansion but I haven’t gotten a response yet.”

You look between him and the others’ expectant faces. “I...don’t think I’ll be able to really take in the mansion if you give me a tour? I’ve never been in a mansion before in the first place.”

There’s a second of silence between them all as they look at each other, and you can see Eloni nod the slightest in Hayms direction.

“We have an arcade!” He says, walking over and grabbing your arm, pulling you in a random direction. “It’s great! We spend a lot of time there when we’re not doing drills. There’s just somethin’ about old fashioned one on one games, y’know? Most things nowadays are so high-tech, like us! My favourite’s air hockey. What’s yours?”

They’re touchy, you note. Close knit in a way you typically weren’t, buddy-buddy in a way you didn’t have experience with. “Traditional games? Non-electronic games? God, I haven’t seen one of those in a while. I used to play pinball when I was younger.”

He frowns, but he doesn’t let you go, and his longer legs are making it hard to keep up without jogging. “Pinball’s not a one-on-one game. I mean like, versus games!”

“I don’t play many versus games.” You admit. “I don’t have other people to play against, usually.”

He gapes at you...and then drags you faster. “We’re going to play together _right now_.”

You look back at the other four, not really expecting help but expecting sympathy at the very least, but none of them offer you any apologies in their grins. Zimelu, who has been the most helpful one throughout this entire experience, catches up to you and grabs Eloni by the shoulder.

“You’re moving too fast.” he says. “We talked about this.”

Eloni frowns “Let me have this.”

“You didn’t ask, you butted in.” he turns to you. “Would you like to play air hockey with Eloni?”

You look between the two of them and raise an eyebrow. “Sure?”

He nods and turns to his green-lit brother. “Go on ahead and get the table ready, we’ll catch up.”

Eloni salutes and runs down the hall and disappears around the corner. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

“You’re my favourite so far, just so you know.” You tell Zimelu. He turns his head to the side and takes a second to respond, and you’re not sure exactly what that’s supposed to mean.

“Someone has to keep these four in line while the Captain is busy, and it sure isn’t going to be _him_.” He points over his shoulder to Rin, who mock-gasps.

“Thats offensive. I’m _offended_. I thought we were brothers, why would you wound me like this, you brute.” He shoves his hair out of his face and catches up to you. “He just likes to pretend to be all stoic and serious, but he’s a real softie on the inside. Aren’t you, yesss aren’t youuu~” He wraps an arm around his brothers shoulder and goes to poke at his face and is given several swats from his red-mohawked kin. He releases him and steps out of his reach. “Yes, yes. I’m the oldest and the leader and I have to tell you all what to do, blah blah. That’s not how this works and you know it. Besides, our new friend here doesn’t want to hear about our _**boring family dynamic~**_ , but _I_ want to hear all about the **_exciting secret life_** of _**DJ Subatomic Supernova**_.”

“Yeah, yeah! Give us the juicy gossip!” Haym makes himself known in your group as you round the corner. “What kind of foods does he like? What does he wear when he’s not performing? We’ve only seen him in his stage clothes and Dad won’t tell us anything. Oh! Where does he keep his secret supply of Dodo Ice Pops?!”  
  
“Lately? In my freezer.” You tell them. “If you’re looking for gossip and tabloid tidbits, you’re asking the wrong person. I barely see him outside of work, this week excluded. We’re not...particularly close?”

“But he brought you here.” Purl Hew looks up from his phone “He’s never brought anyone here before. You’re probably closer than you think.”

You blink at him. “I...huh. I mean...uh. I don’t...have anything to say to that?”

“Which means something’s UP!” Rin sidles up to you, shoving Zimelu out of the way and taking your arm in his. “Go on! Spill the gossip! Why are **you** so important to DJ Subatomic Supernova, hm? What’s got that dumb planetoid wrapped around your shiny little finger?”

You think for a second as you’re ushered into what is very obviously the game room, but it distracts you too much. This place is like Dave and Busters on steroids, if you were to compare it. Traditional skeeball setups line one wall, situated next to a small row of pinball machines, pulled from the past and beautifully restored. There’s three basketball hoop games, an entire sectioned off area for Dance Dance Revolution and a virtual gaming setup, complete with VR headset. There’s two foosball tables, a billiards table, a Taiko drum game set, and several other games that you couldn’t immediately identify, some of which you haven’t seen in years. There’s the occasional soft stools strewn around, all separate identifiable colours (much like their owners) that Haym starts grabbing.

In the middle of the room, surrounded by tall transparent looking glass walls and accompanied by one Eloni, sits a single air hockey table.

“You were taking so long that I got bored of warming up.” he says as he exits the glass(?) barrier around the table.

“Is your air hockey table in quarantine?” You ask them.

Eloni chuckles. “Nah! It just gets _super_ intense sometimes. Like….hm. Purl. Fight me.”

Purl Hew looks at you and then back to Eloni, adjusting his glasses and handing Rin his phone. “It’s your funeral.”

The two of them enter the barrier and you realize that there’s also a ceiling, effectively barricading the table from...everything.

How intense does Air Hockey get??

Rin takes the opportunity to open his brother's phone, wrapping an arm around you and posing. “Smile!”  
  
You hold up a peace sign but very decidedly do not smile in earnest. Once he’s satisfied with the picture he takes one of the whole group as the two duelers prepare themselves in their controlled isolation.

“You didn’t answer my question, by the way.” he says, leading you by the shoulders to sit down on the white chair that Haym has generously pulled over. “What _are_ you to DJ Subatomic Supernova.”

“The fight’s starting.”

You don’t register who says it as you watch the blue and green brothers...prepare for war?? You’re not sure exactly but they sure seem fired up.

Eloni flips his air hockey paddle into the air and grabs it again, and admittedly it’s very cool. “I’m gonna steal that crown and wear it to the next concert.”

“You’re going to lose, and it’s going to hurt.” Purl Hew takes off his glasses and places them under the air hockey table. “You might even cry.”

“Purl’s the champion right now.” Rin supplies helpfully from his spot crouching next to you. “He’s got 250 wins and 50 losses. Eloni hasn’t ever defeated him.”

“Most of the losses were against me.” Zimelu adds. “I’m second, Eloni’s actually last because he’s awful at it.”

“You’re gonna eat your words, redhead.” Eloni jabs at him as a countdown on the hockey table sounds off, shooting out a puck towards the middle of the table.

They’re faster than anything you’ve ever seen and suddenly the barriers around the table make sense.

They’re moving far quicker than any normal human would, with reflexes that could have only been cultivated through rigorous training and intelligent programming. Every time they hit the puck it sounds less like plastic hitting plastic and more like a car engine popping. The puck flies over the table until suddenly it’s not on the table anymore, it’s in Eloni’s face, and he doesn’t flinch as he slams it right back down and sends it soaring at Purl Hew, who easily counters and smacks it midair….right into Eloni’s goal.

“What the fuck did I just watch.” You’re unable to stop the words from pouring out of your mouth at this sports anime level playing field over _air hockey_.

“It’s a long explanation but I’ll summarize.” Rin says, leaning against the side of the chair. “Basically, we’re made for war and defense outside of dancing and singing, which means we’re good at crunching numbers and doing math and geometry and all that jazz. Our brains work faster than humans, so we can calculate the angle to hit the puck at, the angle and direction that the puck’s going to go, and the angle to block within a matter of milliseconds. Leading to a pretty dangerous game that’s left all of us injured at some point.”

“Last time Zi fought Eloni he struck the puck through the circle on his head and it was _awesome_!” Haym excitedly adds on. “The roster right now is Purl, Zi, Rin, Me, and Eloni. He’s lost 300 games out of 300!”

“Three hundred and one.” Purl Hew readies himself for another round. “Because when this game is up he’ll be doing my shift chores for a week.”

Eloni seems horrified at the new information. “That’s not fair, you have a third shift watch and I hate being out that early.”

“You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

It begins again and you’re agape at the speed and calculation that these two are showcasing before you.

If you challenge any of them you would probably die.

“Intimidating, isn’t it.” Rin asks “Don’t worry, none of us will pull any of this on you. We know how to play with normal human strength and speed too. Haym, why don’t you be a good brother and entertain our guest on the next round?”

“But we’re not done yet!” Eloni yells as the puck lands, again, successfully in his goal.

Purl Hew leans down and picks up his glasses from under the table. “We’re done. I’d also like to hear about your relationship with the DJ, since that question still hasn’t been answered.” He almost doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as he’s pushed out of the barrier by Eloni.

“You’re the worst, and I'm not doing your chores. Handle your own damn watch.”

You look to Rin who gestures to the hockey table. “You’re not getting out of here until you play a game, so why not enjoy it~”

Haym pulls you away from him and faux-whispers into your ear. “That’s entrapment you know. And creepy. You can sue him for sexual harassment.”

“Hey, whoa, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Too late, you already said it and it was super creepy.”

“It was kinda creepy.” You add, because in that kind of voice it definitely didn’t sound PG13. You quickly follow Haym into the barrier as Rin backpedals and laments his existence and poor choice of words. You haven’t played air hockey in years, but the grip of the paddle in your hands brings back a youthful nostalgia that you find yourself clinging too. If anything else, your memories still hold precious moments in them. “As for my relationship with DJ Subatomic...its complicated, I think.”

“Complicated good, or complicated bad?” Haym asks as the puck is released. He gently knocks it over to you.

You knock it back, with a little more force, starting a steady volley. “Complicated good, I think. This week has been kind of tough on both of us and I think spending so much time together outside of work is starting to make things different. Before all of this happened we weren’t especially close. I’m his stage manager so I looked after his setup, his equipment, managed the people on the floor, you know. Important supervisor stuff.”

He smiles and doesn’t seem to be particularly keen on scoring a point, more interested in you and your story. “But now?”

You frown. “Now things have changed. He’s pretty much spent this week living in my apartment after being kicked out of his district. It’s been a lot of ups and downs. I watched the Natura concert hall get broken to pieces from my balcony, and that hurt a lot. I basically grew up in that stadium and watching Yinu’s mom break through the ceiling and tear it to shreds kinda messed up a part of me inside.”

“She did _**WHAT**_ ” Haym’s surprise causes him to miss the puck, allowing you to score a goal. The other four snickered and he shot them a look.

“Yeah! Apparently she can grow to be like...twenty stories tall or something. So I went over to inspect that and talk to her and it...didn’t really go as planned. I didn’t really get any closure from it but at least now she knows the damage she’s done. Other things have happened but i’m still kind of aching from that, since it happened….not even a full 12 hours ago.”

Rin clears his throat from outside the barrier and you almost miss the new puck looking over at him. “Cool story, now tell us about the DJ~.”

You focus on the puck and Haym seems to have gotten a little more serious about the game. “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately. I _liked_ hearing about Yinu’s mom becoming a skyscraper. Sorry you couldn’t get what you wanted from it all.”

“Eh, it happens.” You mirror his words from earlier, missing a defense shot as the puck sails into your goal. “As for him...I think we’ve kind of been tiptoeing around each oth-wait why am I telling you all this. That’s personal, and you’re a bunch of gossipy teens.”

“Technically, we’re in our twenties.” Eloni raises his hand from his spot sitting pretzel style on his own chair. “Captain Dad is in his forties, but I think he’s older than that too. We’re ~technically~ third generation, so we’d be….thirty? But we’re also current and new and ‘young’...which makes us teenagers? But we’re programmed to be like...early twenties? It’s confusing. I try not to think about it.”

“We also haven’t had anybody new visit the mansion for quite some time, so we’re naturally curious. Though we _will_ respect your privacy if you don’t want to tell us anything too personal.” Zimelu side-eyes Rin with a fury that you wish you never had the displeasure of experiencing.

You almost miss the new puck, again, and you try to focus on the game, giving a little more effort and hitting the puck a little harder. “Thanks. I’m still trying to figure everything out on my end, and the last conversation we had together left me with a lot of questions so, I think if anything we should probab-aw _fuck_.”

Haym whizzes the puck through your goal and whoops about it as you sigh. He does a little dance and wiggles his hips as Eloni and Rin ‘boo’ him from the sidelines.

Your fun, however, is interrupted by a cough at the door of the arcade. Standing in the doorway are the two men in question who had sequestered themselves into the darkest corner of Neon J’s lab.

He whistles. “TROOPS. Front and center!”

The boys scramble to their feet to line up in front of their father at attention. Rin is the one to speak up.

“Captain! We were entertaining the new guest while improving both flexibility and hand-eye coordination by way of an air-hockey showcase.”

“I see.” Neon J turns to Eloni. “And whose chores are you doing this week.”

“It wasn’t an official match!” He points at Purl Hew. “He tricked me into it with his stupid cool-guy words and stupid fast reflexes.”

Purl Hew shoots back with a smirk. “Get good and maybe you won’t lose so much.” 

“You’re dead to me.”

“Alright, alright. Break it up. Atten _tion_.” Neon J watches his troops salute and puts his hands behind his back. “DJ Subatomic Supernova and I have formulated a plan of both attack and defense in the inevitable battle against Bunk Bed Junction. This plan of attack, while convoluted, requires the use of my mobile factory, so in the meantime you are all under strict house arrest. Do not leave without my permission, do not try to sneak out, because I have heightened the security. Bravo Team is currently riding around the city in the ship for their tour, and they will be the ones they will be focusing on. Until the threat has been dealt with and neutralized, you are under _no circumstances_ allowed to take matters into your own hands. You have been removed from active duty for the next twenty four hours, and will be reinstated when the time is up. Do I make myself clear?”

“Loud and clear Captain J.”

“Excellent. Now, come with me, because I need to give you all a maintenance check. It has been two weeks.”

Each of the boys groan as they file out of the room, Haym and Eloni waving at you as they disappear out the door. 

“You’re welcome back any time!” The latter brother yells through the doorway. “We’ll give the security guard your photo so you won’t get shot!”

“Good to know?!” You balk as they leave, Neon J following suit, leaving you and the DJ alone in the arcade.

You both sigh deeply, though for vastly different reasons you assume.

You nudge him with your elbow. “Difficult strategy meeting?”

“You have no idea.” He says, leaving the room with you on his heels. “I trust J to do what he needs to, and I trust him to defend his boy band and his reputation, but he can get so very carried away when he’s off on a tirade. I only hope he keeps his head on straight when confronting those two _hooligans_.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. But uh...we still need to keep talking. About the conversation before we watched Natura get wrecked?”

He seems to stiffen at your words, and you have a feeling it might be from embarrassment, or something similar. “Yes, well. Before that I have some important information. Neon J has offered to house us here for the time being, since both Natura and Cast Tech are no longer...under their original benefactors.” There’s some venom in his words when he says this, but he continues. “I know that your house is in the Natura district and that you are concerned by the possibility of vandalism and crime rising in your area, but I also know how important it is for you to stay connected to your roots, so I told him that I would have to talk to you before giving him an answer. He did not seem to expect my response, but the option is there. I will also have full access to his recording studio and equipment while I am here, effectively bolstering me where NSR and Tatiana have failed to do so.”

You stop walking and take that in for a second. “So...you’ve already decided that you’re going to stay here? Because it...does make sense. It’s a good career move for you, and you seem to get along well with all of them…” Your voice trails off as you develop a sinking feeling in your stomach. That the possibility of him leaving you is still there, and now that he has the option to, he’ll move on.

Just like everyone else.

“No.”

You blink and look up at him, self-deprecating thoughts ripped in half by the blade of his one word answer. 

“Huh?”  
  
“I will stay here if _you_ want to stay here as well.” He clarifies, taking a step towards you. “If you do not want to stay here, then I will accompany you back to the Natura district, where your home is. I was very serious when I said that I wished to take my next step with you alongside me. If I go where you can not follow, then I will shorten my stride. I...still...do not want to lose you. If you cannot decide, I understand. Though, I am going to take J up on using his recording and sound equipment, because that is an opportunity that I _cannot_ pass up at this current point in time. As for where I will reside outside of that….well...what would you like to do?”

You blush, deeply, and stumble, physically and verbally.

“I….oh god. Neon J extended that to me too? To stay here? I don’t think I could. This place is so big and bright and surreal, and the boys are great but they’re also very overwhelming and _very_ touchy feely in a way I didn’t expect. I feel like this whole district is a lot. I’d like to go back home but, you’re right about the vandalism and graffiti and everything. I’d be really nervous about my safety, and my home’s safety. Neither seem like really favorable options.”

He puts a hand to his chin and hums. “Perhaps….there is a third option.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he gestures you to follow him down the hallway, presumably out of the mansion at some point.

“Bunk Bed Junction and their fans are focused on the Metro district right now, and by viewing what leftover cameras J had placed around the city, Cast Tech is all but ignored now that it has been bowled over, making it safer than the other districts. The further they get, which hopefully won’t be too much further, focuses their fanbase on their next target, like a sonic pulse. The further away the wave, the weaker it is. We _could_ …….go to my house and stay there in the meantime.”

Oh.

_**OH.** _

“You want me to stay at your house? With you?”

“I mean...you offered me refuge when your home was safe. The least I can do is extend the same courtesy.” When he speaks it's rushed, unprepared in a way you’re not used to hearing. “In any case, if Cast Tech is being ignored it will give us time to lay low while Neon J defeats the plutonian duo. After that we can get everything back up and running again.”

“That….also makes sense. Yeah.” You mull it over and nod at him. “Yeah I can...I mean. I would be more than happy to stay with you, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll ‘have you’. I asked, didn't I? We’ll stop by your apartment so you can gather anything you think you may need in the meantime.” He stops walking and you realize that you’ve come to the subway exit, and Purl Hew is there waiting for you. He gives a two fingered salute and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

“I finished my maintenance before them and thought it best to be here when you left.”

You smile at him. “That’s very considerate of you, thank you.”

He shrugs. “I also thought I should give you my number, in case anything happens.” he walks forward and presses his phone into your hands. “Our consciousnesses are connected to all of our other copies, so if anything happens to them, we know automatically. If they’re taken down and Neon J is defeated, it’ll be faster to get the information from one of us. I don’t think he will be, but it’s always good to have a backup plan.”

You punch your number into his phone along with your name, and he takes it back, saves it, and sends you a text evident by the buzzing in your pocket. “Again, very considerate. Anything else before we go?”

“Nope. Have a fun trip back. Be careful.” 

He turns around and walks back down the hallway, and you follow DJ Subatomic Supernova home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Purl Hew and Eloni be like 
> 
> (งಠ_ಠ)ง σ( •̀ ω •́ σ)
> 
> The boys have flaws! Who woulda guessed.
> 
> Plz comment I love u


	13. Break

This fic is going on hiatus. I am no longer interested in continuing it and I am no longer interested in becoming a part of the NSR community.

Full disclosure, the reason I’m no longer interested in being a part of this community is because I am continuing to find out that I am essentially being gate kept from participating in it. 

Here and the NSR Discord server are the only places I can really feel like I'm a part of the community because uh, I’ve been banned from literally everywhere else for reasons I feel are completely unfair and unwarranted. Even in the NSR discord I’ve changed my name and my icon because I know I’m not wanted because people find me ‘uncomfortable’. I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it because I believe that personal life and fandom participation should be kept separate, but I’m still upset because I’m still finding out I’m being kept from places that I’d be able to immerse myself fully in with the community. And when I try to find out what I’ve done wrong and how i can make up for it and fix it I’m told I’m not allowed to try to redeem myself. I was given little explanation as to what I did ‘wrong’ other than ‘people don't like the way you talk and you make them uncomfortable’ and I was given the vamoose. And it fucking hurt, and I’ve done nothing since. I’m watching things happen from the sidelines with little understanding or emotional connection and it’s honestly tearing me up inside. I love NSR and I was so so ready to dedicate myself to the fandom and participate like I felt like I belonged, but I guess not.

Shame on me for thinking that I could be a part of something. I’ve never been treated this badly by people in a fandom in my entire life, and I was there for the Homestuck/Supernatural war. I’ve been gatekept before, but I’ve never been outright told I’m not wanted in a fandom space before.

This is the only place that I have left, and even then I don’t want to be here anymore. 

This fic is cancelled until further notice.

I’m sorry. I can’t keep myself here when all it does is hurt me.

* * *

This chapter is a break, but it is going to continue to be an important part of the story, because I feel like the atmosphere and air needs to be cleared.

The above paragraphs were written after deliberation, and after a week or so of enduring the most strenuous community atmosphere i've ever experienced in my life. I'm going to keep it up as an example of high emotions and perspective.

To be clear, this is about the moderators for the Discord servers both the NSR server and Steven's personal server, and how ridiculously exclusive their management is.

Your patrons are afraid of you. The people in the servers you manage do not feel like they can talk to anyone safely, or do anything that isn't 'pure and good vibes only' without being ostracized and singled out by the moderator community. Your system of 'ban anyone who could maybe be a problem with no chance at redemption' is damaging to the overall community of NSR, and you do not know how to be effective community managers. You change the rules constantly and immediately turn vicious against people who you perceive to be an 'issue' before they've even done anything. Your overzealous management system and your hyper-policing has made the people in the server who do not know how to 'play nice' scared, and if you do not change that you're going to implode. Not to mention that anyone in the mainline NSR server who has 'spoke out' in Steven's server then becomes afraid to do anything due to there already being a target on their backs. you nitpick and single out anyone who acts differently or wants to be 'seen' and tote your own works as godly, and when someone else is proud of something they've done you claim them as 'elitist' and shun them. It is not a beneficial atmosphere for anyone involved. It is the select few that make it uncomfortable, whether or not they realize it, due to the forced positive. Its very hard to be real there, let alone talk about your own life and happenings.

Its been a month or so since I willingly left the main NSR server due to the tension I could feel there, and while I was excited to be a part of a community, I recognize that the community managers have never actually managed a community before. Which is a shame.

This fic will continue, at the behest of Uncle Ali himself, but this chapter will serve as a reminder and a record for not only what happened to me, but what has happened to plenty of others as well. Hopefully my platform, as small as it is, will help highlight the issues surrounding it, and I hope in all good conscious that the people in charge stop abusing their power.

Onto the next chapter.


	14. Recreation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When was the last time you got a break?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not happy.
> 
> But.
> 
> Uncle Ali gave me encouragement to continue this fic on twitter.
> 
> So I will write the rest of it for you sir, if you see this. Thank you.
> 
> The art for this chapter was done by My friend Resh! You can find their work at https://reshzin.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also, I would like to deeply thank everyone for 400 kudos on this fic. I know that NSR is still technically a small community and knowing that there's like 400 people who really like my work and what I do means a lot to me. I AM going to continue writing and finish this fic, but that's really about all I'll be doing. I'll be mostly kind of.....minding my own business everywhere else. But like, seriously thank you. 400 kudos is a big deal and I really do appreciate it. I'm glad you like it.

You don’t frequent the Metro District because of the noise, you tell yourself. Too loud, too bright, too showy, too….upbeat. Forced positivity. An antithetical background to the storm surrounding you. And though your mind is still on the chaos plaguing the city, the spaceship ride continues to function. On it spins, fueled by the music surrounding the city, with no real goal other than to give people entertainment for the minute or so it plays. A neverending circle with no destination, only the short-lived journey, to the tune of a carnival theme you cannot quite place. It meets you on your walk out and you find yourself transfixed by the existential nothingness of its function.

You’re becoming morose.

“Is he going to be okay?” You ask the DJ as you slow your pace, lost in thought over a merry go round.

He must recognize the listlessness in your voice, because he too slows. “He should be.” he tells you. “As long as I have known Neon J I can attest that he is definitely not the type to pull any punches. Certainly not in this particular circumstance. The boys will also be fine, more or less. The main bodies will stay in the mansion, so they’ll suffer no real losses. We’ve given him ample warning and preparation time, so I have no doubt he’ll put the plutonians to bed in their encounter.”

You frown, contemplating the possible outcome and what it could hold for the future of the city. Neon J is a war veteran. An expert in tactical combat and head of defense to boot. If he loses, there’s no telling what could happen to Vinyl City. Half of the city is already overrun with graffiti. The person in charge, Tatiana, seem to be content with abandoning anyone in her circle who doesn’t live up to her expectations over the scenario.

You stare at the merry go round. Never moving but always in motion.

“Have you ever been on?”

You blink and look up at the DJ. “‘Scuse me?”

“The ride.” He nods towards it (you think). “Have you ever been on it before?”

You look back at it. “No. I don’t really have the time to come out here and play around. Or, well. I _didn’t_ have the time. Before.”

He seems to think on this. “Did I really work you that hard?”

“You’re not a slave driver, if that’s what you’re asking.” You kick your foot lightly and some dust scatters. “You gave me solid hours and never asked anything of me I wasn’t willing to do. I just….spent my off days differently. I don’t really indulge in stuff like that.”

“You should.” he says. “The past week or so has been a struggle for you, I’m sure. You’ve been out of your element and you’ve been wallowing in self-pity and doubt over something you had no control over. It was not your fault we were evicted from the club. It was the fault of a group of people who believed their crusade to be so righteous that anybody who existed outside of their mindset needed to be eradicated. But sitting and existing in a state of dread will not help you moving forward. You should take the opportunity you have now to take a break, and focus on something other than the matter at hand. Nobody would fault you for it.”

You can feel heat creep up the back of your neck “A break would be nice. I’ve been more stressed than I would like over this whole situation. What about you, though? You come here all the time, have you ever been on any of the rides littering the city?”

He takes a step back. “Me? _No_. No, no, I simply do not have time for frivolous things like...indulging in carnival rides. No. I have more important things to do, like studying the stars, and working on my music.”

The way he says that seems...defensive.

Too defensive.

You grin. “You should too.”

“What?”  
  
“You should go on one of the rides.” You take a step towards him and he seems to lean backwards. “You don’t really need to work on any music right now, and the planetarium is way out of our grasp. You’ve got all the time in the world until one of the 1010 family calls. You should go on one of the rides. For fun! Take a break and get your mind off things. No one would fault you for it”

You give him the most shit-eating grin you can muster as you repeat his own words back to him, and you can feel the embarrassment radiating off of him as he holds up a hand to you. 

“I cannot even _fit_ on this ride.” He gestures to it. “I am far too large for the seats, and the overhead roller coaster would be a detriment to my height.”

You’re not taking that for an answer. “Then let’s go on the roller coaster. It’s open and you don’t have to worry about height restrictions since it caters to 1010’s own height.”

“I would rather not.”

He tries to take a step back but you lean forward and link your elbow with his, pulling him towards the coaster station. He doesn’t fight you, and you’re...surprised. You’d think he’d struggle more, but that means a part of him wants to go on, and you smile outwardly at it. “Come _onnnnnn_ , It’ll be fun! Don’t tell me Mister Galaxy Star Searcher is afraid of heights? Or going fast?”

“I’m more concerned about the nausea I’ll experience after the ride is over. The roller coaster ranks at a six point five on intensity and I for one would like to keep the inside of my helmet clean today.”

“You can always just take your helmet off.”

“I am _not_ removing my helmet in _public_." he places a hand on his chest, like an offended victorian bachelorette "I am not some _charlatan_ walking around in a mascot suit to entertain the public. I am DJ Subatomic Supernova, and as long as this helmet is on my head, that is who I will continue to be.”

You pull him up the steps, but at this point he’s matched your pace willingly. “You’re not walking around in a mascot suit, but you sure are your own mascot. Does that mean that you stop being DJ Subatomic Supernova when you take your helmet off? What do you become then?”

He huffs and gently pries his arm out of your grip, succumbing to his fate. “What I become is none of your business, thank you very much. We have already garnered the attention of every bystander within a thirty foot radius. Are you trying to cause a scene?”

The words come out as a frustrated in-the-moment jab, but it still gets you a bit inside. You frown as you feel a pulse in your chest, and it’s not a happy one. “I mean, I thought we were bonding. Going on the roller coaster sounded like a good idea and I wanted my first time riding it to be with you, since you’re here and you’ve also never ridden it before, but if you really hate it that much…”

“I have ridden it before.” He tells you, “A very long time ago, when it was first being built. I was a professor then. This was before my music career took off, of course, back before Neon J took this district and turned it into the nightlife loving entity it is today. I was not particularly fond of it then, and I am not particularly fond of it now.”

“Ah. I see. So then, are you going to-”

_“Excuse me.”_

The two of you turn around to see a rather professional looking woman with short pink/blonde hair and sunglasses approach you.

The DJ beside you seems to deflate. “Ah, Barbara. It has been quite some time since we have last interviewed. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

She smiles. “We? Interesting. It is not often I see you accompanied by anyone outside your venue. Who do we have here?”

You know this woman by vague association. She is Barbara, lead music journalist in all of Vinyl City. Her interviews and magazine drops are the talk of the town whenever they’re released, but you’ve never met her in person. You’ve never had to. You don’t have anything to do with the music the Megastars make.

“I’m uh...I’m his stage manager.” You tell her. “Y’know, from Club Planetarium?”

She pulls out her phone and holds it in your direction. “Fascinating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you walking around with him before. Considering the circumstances, would you mind if I asked you a few questions regarding the current state of your district? I’d love to get your feedback.”

“My stage manager is not available for an interview.” DJ Supernova steps slightly in front of you. “In fact, we were about to board the roller coaster until you approached us.”

She smiles and it seems non-threatening, but she’s a reporter. “Frolicking in the Metro District now that you no longer have the Cast Tech District? Would this be a display of nonchalance, or one of abandonment?”

He huffs. “Neither. We are...on a break. We happened to be in the area for a meeting.”

“With Neon J?” She walks around him to get a better look at you. “To warn him about Bunk Bed Junction, I assume. The two of them have always been close, you know. Though it’s interesting to see him dragging someone else around. You must be very important to him.”

“I am literally his stage manager, ma’am.” You tell her, obvious to the fact that he seems uncomfortable. “I do all of the hard stuff so he doesn’t have to stress about anything.”

Her phone is still in her hand, and you have a sneaking suspicion she’s recording. “Oh? And out of work? What are you to him then.”

If she’s recording, she’s going to write about it. If she has a quote, she’s going to use it against you. You know how reporters typically are. Always out for the best kind of story, the one that creates the most drama.

She doesn’t seem to be like that, but you’re not going to lower your guard just because she has a reputation.

“I’m someone who has had a very hard week, and would like to go on a roller coaster with the only other person in my immediate circle who is going through the exact same situation as me.” You tell her. “I’m flattered that you want to interview me, but we were going to go on the roller coaster, and I’d like to get back to doing that.”

She blinks at you, and you think she’s surprised by your answer, but you can’t tell. “Well, don’t let me stop you from enjoying your time together. Though, if you ever _do_ want to sit down for an interview, please feel free to call.” She reaches into her pocket and hands you a business card, shiny and chrome with her number on it. “I interview the Megastars and other artists all the time, but I’d like to get some feedback from someone who works behind the scenes. I’ll be around.”

The two of you watch her wave goodbye and head off in the opposite direction, towards a rather radical looking youth standing by the merry go round. You look at the card and tilt it so it reflects the light of the surrounding neon bars and beams.

“She means well.” Your boss says beside you. “She is a very good journalist. Incredibly professional with an air of experience that very few have in her industry. But, understandably, now is not a good time to be speaking to her. Not that I am one to tell you how you should approach the decision, but as your employer I would advise you against it.”

You think back to the conversation and turn to him. “So, you _are_ going on the roller coaster with me?”

“What? _No_. I just said that so she would leave.”

“But, if you don’t go on the roller coaster she’s going to get suspicious and try to approach you again.”

“Nrgh….she will leave in her own time.”

“But what if she doesn’t.”

“I do not appreciate being subjected to peer pressure from the likes of _you_.”

“Aww, but I thought you _liked_ the likes of me.” You nudge his side. “What with all the ‘you need a break you’ve been working too hard’ stuff you were just saying.”

“You are the worst thing to ever happen to me.” he says as he brushes past you. “If it will satisfy your need to torment me for another week, let’s get this over with.”

“I don’t need a reason to torment you, You’re my boss. It’s in the contract.”

“Just get on the bloody coaster.”

The two of you approach the queue line and it’s smaller than you expected. It is a weird time of the afternoon so you’re not surprised, but this place is supposed to be, quite literally, a bustling metropolis, so you expected the line to be down the stairs at the very least. He still seems unnerved when you enter the queue.

“Do you really not like roller coasters?”

“It’s not that I dislike roller coasters, it’s that I’m not particularly fond of getting sick on them.”

“But you play on a revolving turntable.”

He huffs. “Horizontal centrifugal force and vertical centrifugal force and their effects on the body are two _completely_ different types of gravitational pulls, I’ll have you know.”

You nudge into his side, gently enough that if you wanted to, you could lean on him. You’re tempted. You could just…. _lean on him_. Like a friend does sometimes.

Or a more-than-a-friend does sometimes.

And then you’re at the kiosk. The ticket-teller seems surprised to see you. You probably would be too if you were standing in front of one of the NSR Megastars with no prior exposure to them. The DJ pulls out his NSR card and the teller scans it, ushering the two of you aside to the coaster. As it pulls into its station. There’s a group in front of you, and you wait for them to board, but nobody seems to be coming on behind you, even though there was a line.

Maybe they’re intimidated.

Or...ashamed.

“Is there a camera?” You ask him, to take your mind off of it.

He nods (you think) “There is one at the second drop, which is the tallest drop and therefore the worst one on the ride. It’s right next to the Ferris Wheel, you can’t miss it.”

You smile. “Cool. ‘cause I want a souvenir.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” You shrug, casually. “This is the first time you and I have really done anything out of work like….together? Hanging out? Like regular people do? And with everything crazy going on right now...I’d really like to have one nice memory of this whole situation, y’know? Going on a roller coaster with you would be the highlight of this whole mess, I think.”

It takes him a second to respond, and his “Well...when you put it that way.” is almost overshadowed by the empty car gliding into view.

You’ve never been on the Metro City coaster.

You’ve never been on any roller coaster really. You didn’t get the chance to travel out of the city when you were younger, Natura District taking up all of your time. So, getting into the coaster for the first time in your life? 

You’re positively giddy.

All things aside you’re giddy because you’re riding a roller coaster, alone apparently, with DJ Subatomic Supernova.

“It’s not going to be that bad.” You tell him as he climbs in, shoulders _far_ too wide for his own seat, so much so that he spills a bit into yours, but it’s fine. “It doesn’t even have any loops or anything.”

He ‘hmphs’. “We’ll see what you think when the ride is up.”

And then you’re off.

And its fast.

It’s fast and there’s more twists and turns that you can’t see from the main streets behind the buildings and skyscrapers along the outside edge. 

There are loops, and twists, and a whole slew of other things that you did not expect but sure as hell know about now.

The district blurs to your left and right as the wind of the cold night hits your face, neon lights turning into lines as they whizz by. The music of the district bumps cheerfully in the background as the wind whips around you, until it slows, just so, to a hill climb. You turn to your car-partner and see that he is not taking the ride well.

You frown “Are you really feeling sick?”

“Not sick. Just...nauseous. From the helmet. This is the last hill and then it’s done, and then I’m _never_ getting back on this _monstrosity_ again.”

His hands are in a death grip in his lapbar, and they barely fit on that….

You wrap your arm under one of his hands and pry it off the lapbar, reaching under his arm to hold onto his (sizably bigger) hands. He seems shocked when you do this, but doesn’t complain, doesn’t even comment on it, and in fact seems to relax just slightly.

“You wanna know the good thing about having the helmet on?” You ask him as you reach the top of the track. “Nobody can see how much you hate it.”

And then you fall.

And you’re speeding through a rollercoaster of a night with DJ Subatomic Supernova, and you’re happy, and you think, maybe underneath the distaste he holds for the ride, that he’s a little bit happy too.

But all things must come to an end and the ride slows, as does the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You roll into the offloading station and jump out, releasing his hand, and he pauses once he steps out, leaning up against the railing as the car disappears to pick up more excited riders. 

“I’m going to need a minute.” He tells you.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand in yours and you subtly (very subtly) clutch it to your chest. “I’ve gotta say, this is the least articulate I’ve ever seen you.” 

He straightens up and pats some imaginary dust off of himself, for the appearance, you think. “Ha ha, very funny. You know, I can still fire you.”

“Oh no, whatever will I do without your generous employment benefits.” You jab at him as you head down to the picture kiosk. “I’m gonna go buy the picture, you can stay here until your head stops spinning.”

You don’t give him the chance to reply as you’re already down the steps, around the corner to the entrance kiosk where your souvenir picture stays.

And, you know what?

It’s not bad.

It’s a good picture, and you zoom in on the middle of the picture where your arm is entwined with his hand, and you can still feel the warmth from it.

“Never seen him on here before.” The teller says as you look over the picture. “I seen him walkin’ around the district a few times, but I never seen him actually ride the damn thing. First time for everythin’ though. What size would ya like?”

“Nothing too big, certainly not like an eight by ten or anything, uhhh...five by seven? That’s a common size, right? I know they make frames for that. I don’t do this very often.”

“Two of those, if you would.” The DJ comes down from the stairs and to anybody else, you would never know how much he disliked the coaster.

You blink at him. “You’re buying one? But you hated that.”

He shrugs. “There’s a first time for everything. You can put them on this.”

He hands the teller the card, but you’re distracted by the buzzing in your pocket signaling you’re getting a call. You take a few steps away from the kiosk and fish it out, not recognizing the phone number, and you answer.

“Hello?”

  
  
_\--- “Hey, its Purl-Hew. Do you have a minute?”---_

You look back to DJ Subatomic Supernova and wave a hand at him to come over. You put the phone on speaker so the DJ can hear. 

“Yeah! Hi Purl-Hew. Of course. What do you need?”

_\---“Yeah, well, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that our limo-ship is still working and that we’re all alright back at the manor.” ---_

You’re pretty sure that the space DJ is frowning pretty hard under his helmet. “And the bad news?”

_\--- “Yeah about that…_

_The bad news is that Dad lost.” ---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Using the Roller Coaster Tycoon Roller Coaster Intensity Scale? In a fanfiction with a roller coaster in it?
> 
> Never.


	15. Terminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neon J is many things, but he is most ardentlt a realist.
> 
> You find him, you (try to) fix him, you are not sure what to make of things now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Some big news. A couple of other fanfiction authors and I made a Discord server for NSR fanworks! You don't explicitly have to be a fanfic writer to join, but we'd like it if it was a little bit bigger! If you're an NSR fan or if you've got friends who are into NSR then please feel free to join us! And of course if you're an avid fanfic reader we're happy to have you!
> 
> https://discord.gg/fAWqtcTFbS
> 
> Hope to see you there!

You’re ushered towards the back of the mansion, where the battleship limo has laid itself to rest after the _hazardous_ run in with Bunk Bed Junction. There’s smoke coming from the ship, but you’re not sure if it’s from the ship itself or whatever was on the ship, which was a factory? You remember them talking about a factory when you were here last.

Purl-Hew, your escort, has been surprisingly calm during all of this, but that’s probably just how he is in general.

“So, fair warning, he was hit pretty hard.” He tells you as you make your way to the front of this ridiculously large and unnecessary vehicle. “We got the live-feed from our copies so we saw everything that happened during the fight. The factory is almost completely destroyed, and he’s got some damage we can’t fix, so, in hindsight it’s probably good you were so close.”

That last part is directed at the DJ who, from what visual cues he’s giving off, seems incredibly worried over Neon J. Far more worried than the other artists. It’s probably because they’re close friends, you think, and try not to read into the fact that you can count on one hand the amount of times he’s expressed emotions around you this strongly, and most of them happened within the last week.

“How is he consciously?” He asks as they round the middle of the ship. 

Its carnage

It’s a mess.

That’s the only thing you think when you see the various 1010 bodies lying scattered along the ground, Neon J sitting in front of a gigantic machine, also in pieces, with some pretty heavy damage to boot.

Jesus these guys don’t play around.

DJ Supernova rushes to Neon J’s side as he’s coddled by Eloni and Haym. The other two are milling around trying to pick up the pieces of...themselves? It’s very confusing.

“He’s been in a weird daze ever since we got here.” Eloni tells you when you approach. “He keeps going on about regrets and the war and all this other stuff.”

“Do you know what I have done…” Neon J speaks, presumably to DJSS “Everything that I have done for NSR, the people it has put in danger….the lives that could have been lost.”

“Oh, god, not this again.” You can _hear_ DJSS rolling his eyes underneath his helmet. “I’ll take him from here, boys. Go clean up the rest of….this.”

You watch him gesture to the mess and the two of them salute, heading off to join the other two in cleaning. He reaches down and puts one arm underneath Neon J’s to try to hoist him up….and then decides that that’s too aggravating and throws him over his shoulder in a fireman carry instead.

“Do you know how insufferable you are when this happens?” He chides him, much like one would a child. “Do you know how long it takes for me to fix this every time?”

You have no idea what’s going on, so you ask. “Is he going to be okay?”

DJSS waves one hand as he heads into the mansion. “Yes, yes he’ll be fine. He’s just _moping_. He does this every time something doesn’t go the way he plans it. First he gets defeated and laments his own existence, and if he doesn’t have a listening audience he becomes irate. Then he starts to spiral into an existential ouroboros about whether or not he’s allowed to feel the guilt or if it’s really his guilt or if it’s part of the advanced programming he installed inside himself. He’s a mess and he needs to get the hell over himself.”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Neon J almost shouts it, but he doesn’t make a move to struggle or try to get out of the DJ’s grip. “ _I_ need to get over _myself_? Hah! I’m a _war veteran_. I have numerous accomplishments and ribbons for my dedication to protecting Vinyl City and its inhabitants. I am one of the most accomplished and decorated military experts to ever grace this city and NSR.”

The DJ plops him down on one of the big couches in the foyer. “And yet, you were defeated by a bunch of college students flailing around a guitar. You must be so proud of yourself.”

“They shot me!” He says, draping over the couch, his sooted and cracked exterior a stark contrast to the pristine white-vinyl. “They don’t just have weapons, Supernova. Their combat techniques were more advanced than that. Their power is almost the same wavelength as Tatiana.”

That makes you do a double take. “Wait, you’re saying these kids are as powerful as the head of NSR?”

Neon J stands up, shakily, “No, they are not as powerful as Tatiana, but they operate on the same wavelength. However _that_ will play out when they reach her is still to be determined.”

The DJ moves to steady him, but he’s swatted away. “You say this as if Eve is nonexistent.”

“In this instance? She might as well be. Follow me.” He heads out of the foyer and up the steps, and this time he _does_ accept the DJ’s help going up them. He uses the larger artist as a crutch as the three of you move deeper into the mansion, towards the same workshop room you entered on your first visit there. He opens the door and plops himself on the nearest workbench the second he’s inside, lying down on it as if it were a medical cot. It...probably was?

“One of the members of Bunk Bed Junction has a history with Eve.” He elaborates as DJSS moves to gather some tools on the countertop without being asked. This was probably some kind of routine. 

But the news of these nobody rockers being associated with someone as big as Eve gets you, and you can’t stop yourself from asking “What kind of history.”

“Where are your spare parts.” The DJ interjects before he can elaborate and Neon J points to a series of cabinets on the other side of the room.

The cyborg clears his throat. “As I was saying, Bunk Bed Junction and Eve are connected. The drummer, Zuke, used to be bandmates with Eve, and the two of them were fairly close romantically until Eve set his hair on fire during one of their live performances. From what little information I have gathered, he has not spoken to her since. This incident happened some time ago, but Eve has carried it with her and has not forgotten it. Their relationship, and by default the way the world saw her back then, has continued to be an important theme in her artwork and performances. It is something she has yet to let go, so I can imagine being face to face with them may leave some things to be desired. Knowing her personality, I know she will not take it well. She was doomed to fail from the start.”

You wince. It’s a little harsh but, you know nothing of their dynamic so you can’t even begin to speculate how the encounter will go. The only thing you really know of Eve is that she is an enigma that is obsessed with how the world see herself. If she’s connected to one of the members of Bunk Bed Junction, there’s going to be a pretty intense fight.

“So what do we do then?” You ask him as DJ Subatomic Supernova comes back to the workbench with what looks like spare parts for Neon J, including a monitor screen.

The cyborg in question shakes his head. “We do nothing. Well, that’s not accurate. I am going to stay here and be patched up, and then I am going to work on putting my factory back together and increasing security around the mansion. I am well aware of what Bunk Bed Junctions followers have done to the other districts. I will not have them tarnish my reputation, or my architecture!”

He seems very set in this and The bigger DJ turns to you. “I have put J back together many times in the past, more often than not due to his own recklessness. I know that you have experience in engineering, but this is more complex than anything you’re accustomed to. I’ll...be putting him back together for a while. What would you like to do?”

You ponder for a moment.

What _do_ you want to do?

You could stay. You could stay and watch your boss piece together 1010’s manager, something he’s apparently done many times before. You could learn along with him, maybe pick up some robotics skills in the process (even though he’s a cyborg and not a robot?). You’re not sure what you could do to help the situation other than hand them tools and add witty commentary.

Somehow, watching the way the two megastars interact makes you feel like you’re intruding.

“I think I’ll go help the boys with the cleanup outside.” You tell him, anxiety sitting tight in you like a needle in your chest. “I’m not sure how much I could really do here.”

He nods, moving his whole head for the motion. “I...understand. Normally I would leave him to his own devices but, circumstances as they are, we do need to figure out what we’re going to do next, and that can't really happen until he’s back to one hundred percent.”

“I’m right here.” Neon J sits up and points in your direction. “You. Tell my troops to standby, and that they are on...temporary leave. They are not allowed to leave the mansion and I _will_ have guards at the doors. I will repair my factory in due time.”

You mock-salute and he seems to sit up straighter. “Aye aye, captain. You can text me when you’re whole again.”

DJ Subatomic Supernova watches you leave with some interest, and amidst the small bubble of chaos swirling around in his chest, he is very very glad that you left.

He turns to Neon J and smacks him in the back of the head, the nick adding one more crack to the sonar screen that makes up his face. “You could have died, you imbecile.”

Neon J slaps his arm in retaliation. “I will never die! They may break my body….but they will never break my spirit!”

“You’re being melodramatic.” The DJ removes his helmet and pulls a hair band out of his jacket pocket, pulling his curls back and out of his face. “This better be the last time I have to replace your head, or so help me I will launch you into orbit myself.”

“You can’t throw that hard.” He falls back against the table-gurney and splays out his arms. “I am getting too old to keep breaking like this. You are getting too old to keep fixing me.”

The DJ grabs his arm and hoists him into a sitting position. “You’re only forty seven, calm down. Your body is even younger. In any case, at least this doesn’t look as bad as your motorcycle accident.”

“I remember that one! Steel beam right through my monitor. I couldn’t walk for a week.”

“And you had the _nerve_ to insist you could still _stand_ afterwards. I had to build an entirely new sensory net for you _from scratch_. You never thanked me for it.”

“Didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re still here.”

The DJ doesn’t falter, he doesn’t slow, but his words ring true.

He is still here, after all this time, taking care of Neon J, because he cares.

“I am here because your sons were concerned.” He tells him, reaching around the desk to pull out a pair of goggles he knows are there. J can’t see his face, he notes, as his sensory lens is also cracked. “I am _also_ here because you cannot fix yourself, and I do not trust whatever you’ve put into those five hooligans.”

“I have put nothing but the best programming into them, I’ll have you know.”

He gives him a noncommital grunt as he begins detatching the wires from J’s neck to the monitor that serves as his head. “This is going to hurt.”

“Always does.”

He yanks the monitor off of J’s shoulders with a loud “POP”, placing it to the side and inspecting the connection port and the damage it sustained. He doesn’t yell or make any real noise when it’s removed, just squeezes his hands hard enough to leave light dents on the bottom of the table. 

“You are very lucky that you keep extras of everything.” DJSS picks up the replacement monitor. “You are also lucky that all of your visible appendages are replaceable and all of your internal organs are protected by Durasteel. This would be a nightmare otherwise.”

“Have I done the right thing?”

The question takes him so much by surprise that he loosens his grip on the new monitor, righting it before it can fall out of his grip. “What?”

Neon J waits until the new monitor is applied before he finishes his thought. Being able to see and convey his thoughts accurately once again, he continues. “Have I done the right thing, taking on these responsibilities for NSR? Becoming Tatiana’s aide? The Chief of Defense? All of this. I know that the issues with the city’s energy do not affect the whole of the city. I have told Tatiana time and time again that what we are doing is not enough, and she has told me time and time again that I do not need to worry about it. As long as the NSR artists are receiving power, that is all that matters. For the city’s survival, she has told me. I am inclined to believe otherwise. I have kept silent about it because I believed that Tatiana would help keep the city running, but I was wrong. I am protecting the city, in my own way. With my cameras and the robots I’ve made, I know that I have helped people, but the citizens of Vinyl City are still suffering. It is nothing like the utopia that I have imagined the future to be. I do not see children running around happily, carelessly in the streets as I once did. I do not see the same Vinyl City that I saw when I first became 1010’s manager. Am I a bad person for staying silent and obeying orders? Am I a bad soldier if I have regrets?”

The larger DJ doesn’t know what to say immediately, a rare occurrence, and it does take him some time before he replies.

“You have never been a bad person.” he tells him, more emotion in his voice than necessary for the situation. “You have done things that have helped keep this city safe, and you did it with the conviction that that would be true. You are not at fault for any of this, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’ve made some mistakes, as does almost everyone, and now you can learn from them and grow with them and do better. First thing’s first, we need to fix your body and make sure none of your vital organs were damaged horribly. You’re not leaking anything so that’s a start.”

Neon J nods as he sits back and lets his friend fix him in a routine that feels secondhand to them by now. It takes a while, at least an hour and a half, before all of his new limbs are attached and a full diagnostics check has been run. None of his vital organs have sustained any serious damage, which was a blessing. 

“What are you going to do?” Neon J asks him while he’s readjusting the wiring in his wrist. “Have you thought about my offer?”

He can see his face now, DJ Supernova realizes, and he nods. “I have spoken with my associate and we have come to the decision that it would be safer to head back to the Cast Tech district. All of the action is on this side of the city, so to speak, and the beginning areas that have already been run over are more than likely under very little surveillance or attention from their followers, so it may be the safest option. Being as though their own lodgings are in the Natura district, I offered for them to stay at my home in the interim.”

“You’re bringing them home? Do you have protection?”

The quip earns Neon J another flick to his monitor as he laughs.

“No! No, but that is quite a step for you. It makes sense that you would go back, and you are correct in your assumption that the Cast Tech and Akusuka districts are being left alone. My surveillance has picked up little other than some NSR defense bots scattered around the area. It will be uneventful, and going home will give you all of the equipment you need to get back to work. I am...not entirely happy to be snubbed, but I understand.”

The DJ looks back to the door, and then pulls out his copy of the picture taken at the rollercoaster. Neon J can see it from this angle, but he does not comment on it. “I want this to work, J. It’s already working. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize what we have. Not that staying here would do that, but I want to make an effort.”

“More than you’ve done before.” He quips back as he hops down off the table, satisfied with his current condition. “I can handle my own repairs from here. You don’t need to coddle me anymore.”

The Dj huffs and puts his helmet back on, not bothering with his hair. “If it didn’t happen so often, I wouldn’t have to coddle you, you walking infant in metal shoes.”

“Says the goldfish bowl with legs.” Neon J picks up a screwdriver and twirls it around in his fingers. “Good luck. You have my blessing. Now get out of my workshop.”

Neon J’s blessing, as little as it matters in general, is actually very reassuring as he leaves the room and heads down to the foyer where four of the five 1010 robots are lounging.

White, Yellow, Green, and Blue are accounted for.

Red is gone. As is his stage manager.

He’s confused.

“Have any of you seen my associate?”

The four robots look at each other in the way that teenage boys look at each other when they're about to commit fraud together.

“Associate? Never heard of ‘em.” Haym is sprawled out on the white couch to the point where the upper half of his body is on the floor. “Have you checked with Eloni?”

The green robot grins “I’ve been developing incredibly complex anime AMV’s in my head, I haven’t seen anything. Rin? You seen anyone?” 

“The only thing I’ve seen is the light cascading from DJ Subatomic Supernova’s visage. It’s _blinding_.” The white brother strikes a pose that impresses absolutely no one. “Captivating even.”

The DJ frowns internally and turns to Purl-Hew. “Where are they.”

Purl-Hew looks up from his phone, takes a glance at his brothers, and then back to the DJ. “They left to go sneak into Eve’s art gallery.”

…

“They _WHAT?!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now return to your regularly scheduled shenanigans :D

**Author's Note:**

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